


Needing and Getting

by rachelladeville



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, Group Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Mentions of past prostitution, Multiple Partners, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Risky Behaviors, Rough Sex, Spanking, Use of restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelladeville/pseuds/rachelladeville
Summary: Anyone who knew Dean would probably consider him a success story. Despite growing up the way he did, he’s still managed to make something of himself. These days, he’s a successful tattoo artist. And, the kid brother he practically raised is now a promising law student. Dean has his own apartment, a cherry ride, and a respectable bank account. Yeah, if anyone knew what he'd been through they’d likely think of him as a survivor… someone who had overcome adversity to make something of himself. But really, it's hard to feel like a champ right now. Not while he’s standing half naked in public with his arms bound over his head and waiting for the inevitable gang bang.





	1. Needing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Destiella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiella/gifts).



> Okay, so this started out as porn without plot (something I'm not normally into). But, it became a little more than that. The story starts out as Dean/Benny, but don't worry, it morphs into Dean/Cas and will have a happy ending. By the way, no beta for this one so I apologize in advance for the many mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destiella, this is the shameless and useless ramble that I told you about the other day. I kept thinking about it and ended up going back to it. It's a few thousand more words now, but now I like it enough to post it. Just not enough to bother asking you to edit it. Perhaps it will be fun to read one you didn't have to beta. Or maybe it will drive you bananas that I've left so many errors in it. We'll see. Hugs to you! Thanks for all you do!!

              

 

It’s 2:00 am on Saturday night. No, wait. Sunday morning. Last call has come and gone and it’s the moment of truth. The lowlights of the bar are extinguished and overhead, bright florescent lights flicker on. At this point, Dean’s eyes are on the man he’s been drinking with for the last twenty minutes or so. His face looks different under the new, harsh lighting and Dean’s sure that his own does too. There’s only a moment of suspense where Dean finds himself wondering if this guy is going to pan out, or if he’ll be striking out tonight. Honestly, even if that’s the case, there are other ways to hook up. Dean’s a master of all of them. But the truth is, he’s in the mood for something specific tonight and not just anybody will do.

When he’d first looked upon the virile specimen before him, he’d had a hunch. But, drinks with the man had removed all doubt. This man is the right kind of guy to give him what he’s looking for.

His name is Benny, or so he says. He’s broad in the shoulders, thick in the neck, and wearing the perfect amount of facial hair. His heavily accented voice is deep and smooth, like bourbon. But, what Dean notices more than anything else are the man’s eyes. Depending on the topic of conversation, they either radiate kindness and warmth or a steely hardness that incites goosebumps. That combination is what Dean’s been looking for tonight.

You see, Dean likes it rough and raw, animal urges are lurking in the glint of Benny’s gaze. However, as they’d drank and talked, Dean had seen a flicker of warmth cross the man’s face a few times… like when he’d laughed at Dean’s colorful joke or when he’d expressed genuine sorrow over Dean’s fractured relationship with his father. That kindness is what balances things out. This man, Dean thinks, will be able to take control, drive him to the edge, push his limits, and give him what he needs. He’ll bark orders, inflict pain and humiliate. But, the man’s kinder side means that he’s probably not the type to cross sane boundaries. Dean doesn’t have to actually fear what this man might do to him once he has the upper hand.

Only a few seconds tick past as they eye each other under unforgiving lights and then with nothing more than a nod, they walk to the door together as if they both just _know_. Benny keeps one hand on him possessively as they cross the lot. There’s no discussion of whose vehicle they’ll take. Dean’s just guided towards Benny’s truck. When they climb in, Benny asks how long they have.

“This better take all night,” he replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Bet ‘yer ass,” the hulking man replies. “If ‘yer up for it, I know a spot. Private club, open til dawn.”

“Fuck yeah,” agrees Dean without thinking. He’s been on the road most of his life and he’s been around. Benny doesn’t need to tell him what they’ll find at this club, it’s universal. There will be booze, drugs, and sex… all of them out in the open. The details may be different from place to place, but those three things are always present.

“Ya wanna bump?” offers Benny. Dean nods and bends forward, touching one finger to his right nostril as he leans in. He snorts a heavy hit from the key that’s clutched securely in Benny’s hand. He lets his face crinkle as he inhales. It feels like he’s sucking a dragonfly up his nose. Absorbing a full-body shiver, Dean can’t help but grind his finger into his nose and then press both palms to his face as the tingles spread out like spiders and start to itch behind his eyes.

Off to the side, he hears Benny hitting and then the two of them are silent for a beat while they both get right. Benny stomps his feet and lets out a loud holler that Dean thinks is a cross between a red-neck howl and a college-girl’s woo-hoo. They look at each other and grin. Dean’s even more sure now than he was at the bar; Benny’s gonna rock his world tonight.

Paying no attention to where they’re going, Dean loses himself in the colors and lights as they drive. It almost feels like the streetlamps are moving along with them as they roll through the city. Dean can’t be bothered with looking around. He doesn’t take in any street names or landmarks to know where they are. He doesn’t care. When they park, the only thing that he’s paying attention to is the soft thump of music coming from a nearby building. It calls to him, and when they begin walking towards it together, Dean finds that they are walking to the beat. Euphoric, he feels as though the entire city, hell, all the world is marching in sync.

When they come to a stop, Dean finds himself at the back door to some old and decrepit warehouse building. There are stacks of wooden crates and an overflowing dumpster to the left. To the right is a hulking man perched on a rickety stool. Door man. Dean watches as Benny talks to him, his words inaudible from Dean’s position a few feet behind. Money changes hands and the next thing he knows, Benny is pulling him forward and through the door which slams behind them.

The music is louder now, clearer, and Dean’s pulse quickens as they make their way down a long, dark concrete hallway. His anticipation spikes as they turn a blind corner and then they’re emerging into a huge space. This seems to be an old factory building, though Dean’s clueless as to what kind of work had been done in this space. The ceilings are high and so are the windows which have all been painted black from the inside. There’s a lot to take in as he walks the perimeter, Benny in the lead and greeting a few people that he apparently knows as they pass.

This is exactly the kind of scene Dean had been hoping for. There’s a wide variety of people here and mixed in with the regularly clothed are some in sexy costumes… corsets and leather and collars. As he looks around, Dean sees a few in head-to-toe bondage gear, masks, and a few are even carrying instruments of discipline or tugging a slave along behind them. As they skirt the room, they move past a woman in thigh high boots and a corset. She’s gorgeous and Dean doesn’t realize he’s leering at her until Benny gives him a petulant tug.

Continuing on, Dean spies a couple who are engaged in play. His heart skips a beat as he watches one man shove another to his knees. Pausing, he watches as the kneeling man begs for dick. His Dom, not even looking at their audience, graciously obliges. He’s slow in his movements as he unzips and the moment skin is revealed, there’s a hungry mouth on it. For his exuberance, the kneeling man is rebuked. Watching, Dean’s own cock twitches. As if Benny could feel his reaction, the man presses up against Dean’s back and whispers, “Your time will come.”

Dean nods vaguely as he watches the show before him and tries not to show discontent when he’s pulled away. Still being tugged along behind Benny, Dean gazes out over the interesting crowd. He catches the eye of a few and hopes that they will be around when he and Benny get down to business. One in particular, a trench-coated man with fierce blue eyes, follows them for a few steps. Dean is immediately interested and gives him a look that he knows will show it.

Though there are singles and small groups around the outskirts of the room, most of the bodies are clustered in the center where there’s dancing. It’s a dirty grind of bodies, some of whom are shirtless while a few are even naked. Checking behind him, Dean sees the trench-coated man still following them at a distance, his gaze smoldering.  Suddenly, Dean is being spun. Struggling to refocus, he sets his eyes forward again. The blur of sound and color as he’s turned is dizzying and wonderful and he loves it.

As he orientates, his feet magically know where to go and without missing a beat, he’s dancing. Benny has pulled him into the thick crowd of moving bodies and placed hands at his hips. Dean grins when their eyes meet and leans into the man, loving the feel of those heavy hands on him. His feet, his body, even the blood pumping in his veins flow fluidly and to the beat of the music. The flashes of light and color around them create an aura of magic and excitement that add to his high. He feels like he’s one with the thrumming crowd and they are all part of him. He loves all these people and they love him. He reaches out and runs his hands over those around him and feels their hands on him in return. He packs in tightly, allowing their energy to flow through him as he moves easily among them.

When the song changes, Benny strip his shirt off and flings it carelessly to the ground. Following suit, he peels his off his own. Before he can even drop it to the ground, there are hands on his bare skin. Swept up in the wave of bodies, Dean moves to the music and lets himself be touched. Every touch is amplified now that it’s skin to skin and Benny is looking at him hungrily as they move sensually among the others. Fingers tickle down his back, flutter at his sides, tickle over his nipples. He’s sweating now and the displaced air from his movements cools his pasty skin. When he opens is eyes again, he’s looking into Benny’s blue ones. There’s a hand cupping his cock and he feels it clamp down. He loves it. Pushes into it.

With a grin, Benny reaches out deftly and in one quick motion he undoes the button of Dean’s fly. Looking up at the man through his lashes, Dean knows that the submissive posture will invite more. When there’s a tug at his zipper, Dean closes his eyes and tips his head back. He lets it happen. The waist of his pants is sagging open now and as he moves amidst the swirl of churning bodies, his pants start to slide down. Just an inch, then two.

Denim rides Dean’s hips as he grinds from one body to the next. He’s reveling in the touch of so many different hands on his body, some soft and feminine, some heavy and masculine, some teasing and some rough. Surrendering utterly, he lets himself fall forward into Benny’s waiting arms. The man’s heavy frame supports him as multiple pairs of hands start to shuck his pants down.

Cool air hits the backs of his legs and he struggles to kick off the jeans as they pool around his ankles. Hands of people he doesn’t know are helping him get out of his pants while others take the opportunity to touch newly revealed skin. The hands of beloved strangers caress him all over as they all move together. He sighs against Benny’s bare chest and then the two of them begin moving sensually together. In nothing but his black briefs and boots, Dean rolls his body with the music and revels in the freedom of stripping down and the sensuality of skin on skin contact with so many strangers.

The world is turning around him in a gentle blur and his body is buzzing, but out of the hazy carnival of color and sound, Dean’s attention is drawn to one distinct form. Nearby, watching from the sidelines, is the man in the trench coat. His blue eyes are bright and shining, even from a distance and he’s unabashedly watching Dean with keen interest. Dean smiles at him and turns his attention elsewhere, but every time he looks back, those eyes are still locked on him. Dean beckons him with his eyes and his pout, but the man does nothing more than raise his chin. It looks like a challenge. Dean wonders if it’s also an invitation.

There’s breath on his neck and Benny’s voice in his ear. He’s being offered a hit in the bathroom. “Fuck no,” he replies as he turns to face the man, “no more for you. One more hit and you’ll have paint brush dick. I need fucked hard tonight.”

“Oh brotha,” growls Benny in his ear, “No need to worry ‘bout that. We’ll take care of ya.”

“We?”

“Yeah,” Benny chuckles darkly, “me and as many others as it takes.”

“Others?” he asks giddily. He’d been hoping Benny would be a ‘share and share alike’ kind of guy, but he hadn’t been sure. Sometimes the nicer ones didn’t like to pass a guy around.

“C’mon,” barked Benny roughly, “you know you wanna run a train. It’s all over you.”

Benny’s right. Dean’s not like other guys. He doesn’t want a quick fuck in the bathroom or the alley so he can shoot his load and go home to pass out. No. Dean needs more. He needs to bend over and get some dick. Publicly. He needs the titillation of being watched. He needs pain too, and humiliation. He needs to be used and abused and driven to the edge before he’ll finally be able to blow his load. And tonight, he’s in a mood. It’s a familiar feeling. This is one of those nights when Dean feels like he could fuck and fuck and fuck and still never come… like nothing will ever be enough to sate him. And now, on the dancefloor, as Dean writhes to the beat, touching and being touched, Benny has called him out for wanting to be passed around.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” he challenges to Benny.

The man leans in and replies, “Gimme your safe word.”

“Impala.”

“Interesting.”

“Remember it,” barks Dean, but his words seem lost to the music and the swell of the crowd around them. Falling back into silence as they move together, Dean lets himself be swept up in the atmosphere.  The bodies around him glisten under the flashing lights and Dean’s eyes keep going out of focus as he takes in the spectacle of flesh around him.

When he presses his ass back into Benny, he feels the man’s size and strength. It makes him weak in the knees and tingly in his groin. Then, he’s being moved again, propelled forward by the strong man behind him. They move together, leaving the throng of dancers behind. Its ten degrees cooler on the outskirts of the room. There are small clusters of people out here on the perimeter and most are either watching the dancefloor or the promiscuous antics of a few exhibitionists who don’t bother sneaking off to be alone for their indiscretions. There are dark corners everywhere and Dean doesn’t have to investigate them to know that dirty deeds are being done there too. Benny’s mouth is at his ear and the man’s whiskers tickle at the bolt of Dean’s jaw.

“M’gonna do bad things to you,” he promises.

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” Dean growls back.

A few steps further and they come to a steel pillar, one of the many that holds up the roof on this aging structure. It’s painted red, or what was once red. It’s rusty on the edges and dirty where it meets the floor. Dean knows because that’s where his eyes go as he’s shoved forward against it. He closes his eyes as he waits, thinking his underwear will be jerked down and his body penetrated. He wonders if there’s going to be prep before he’s fucked. When a beat passes and he’s still untouched, Dean opens his eyes and looks around. There are people turning to watch, likely under the correct assumption that there’s about to be a show.

But, Benny’s hands don’t go to Dean’s ass as expected. They clamp down on his wrists, hoisting his arms over his head and skillfully binding them. Looking up, Dean can now see the metal ring that’s been welded to this pillar. He’d not noticed it when they approached, nor had he seen the rope that was hanging from it. He’d been too enthralled with the idea of getting a cock between his cheeks and the thrill of knowing there would be an audience as it happened.

As the warmth and weight of Benny comes away from Dean’s back, he’s left tethered to the pole, bound with his arms over his head. He has just enough leeway to turn his body from left to right a little and see from side to side. What’s happening behind him is a mystery. The feeling of being restrained takes some getting used to; this was unexpected. He tests the rope by pulling against it. In his fevered state, the feeling of excitement is at war with mounting fear and Dean finds himself panicking. Suddenly terrified of what he’s gotten himself into, he begins thrashing, flailing, and he screams for Benny, wondering if he’s been betrayed. In just moments, Dean feels Benny behind him once more.

“Take it easy, mon cheri,” whispers Benny in his thick Louisiana drawl. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen that you don’t want.”

Dean relaxes at the words, remembering why he’d chosen Benny in the first place. Dean has a good sense about people and he trusts his intuition. This man won’t hurt him. Well, not more than he wants anyway. He will take Dean to the edge, that’s for sure.

As Benny leans into him, Dean feels his body grow still and expectant. Projecting strength, Dean grits his teeth and says, “Get on with it then.”

As Benny steps away, leaving Dean bound to rusty steel, the sounds from around them creep into his awareness. There’s some clapping and shouting, some jeering. Opening his eyes, Dean sees that a small crowd is now assembling to watch. Glancing around at the various faces, Dean is oddly happy to see the trench-coated man among them and hopes for him to be among the many that will approach for a fuck.

However, as moments tick by and those intense blue eyes remain fixed on Dean’s, he begins to feel a weight in the man’s gaze as it rests on him. It’s as if this man can see all the way to his soul.

The expression on this strangers face seems to simultaneously show intrigue and regret, arousal and sorrow, excitement and shame. Perhaps he was seeing something the others didn’t. Maybe he had looked beyond Dean’s cocky preening and flirtatious smiles. It was possible that this man suspected that Dean behaved this way for a reason… because he’d been broken. It was impossible to decide if he liked the man’s vigilant stare or hated it.

It was true that Dean had lived a rough life. The first time he’d been passed around and fucked raw, it hadn’t been because he was horny and high. It had been out of desperation to feed his baby brother and provide lodgings for the night. Their father’s abandonment had never been permanent, but it had often been lengthy. Short of reporting his father to the authorities and allowing him and his brother to be separated and pulled into the system, Dean had been left with no other option than to take on the role of caregiver. And, at fifteen, he’d only seen two possible options for income. Theft and prostitution. He’d done both. Often. As much as it took.

Even when he’d grown old enough to get a real job, he’d not bothered. Honestly, how can someone transition from steeling and hooking to a minimum wage job? At that rate of pay, he would have had to choose between food and shelter for them. But, illicit activities paid for both. And then some. By the time Sam had grown up, Dean had been ruined. He knew it deep down, but seldom thought about it. The memories of his past and the bleak perception of himself had settled into his bones now.

Anyone who knew him would probably consider him a success story. Despite growing up the way he did, he’s still managed to make something of himself. These days, he’s a successful tattoo artist. And, his baby brother is a law student. Dean has his own apartment, a cherry ride, and a respectable bank account. Yeah, if anyone knew his story, they’d likely think of him as a survivor… someone who had overcome adversity to make something of himself. But really, it was hard to feel like a champ right now. Not while he’s standing half naked in public with his arms bound over his head and his body preparing for a gang-bang. 

If there had ever been a time when he could have regular sex and enjoy it, the memory is lost to him. These days, in order to really get off, he has to endure a lot. It hadn’t always been this bad, but over the years his needs had grown, with Dean needing more and more to satisfy him. He needs this. And he hates that he needs it.

At the small of his back, Dean feels Benny’s hands come to rest and he grows still under their weight. Then, those hands travel downward and rough fingers are curling into the elastic waist of his underwear. Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out as he waits for them to be yanked down.

However, in place of the thrill he usually gets from having his ass bared to the room, Dean gets pain. Without warning, the fabric digs in harshly. His skin screams in protest and he grits his teeth against the the stinging feel of his briefs literally being torn from his body. The sound of shredding material reaches his ears only a moment ahead of the appreciative howls from the gathering crowd. They cheer as Benny kicks Dean’s booted feet apart and steps between his legs. Slipping into his role, Dean plants his feet firmly and sags forward on his rope. The movement bows his back and gets resounding shouts of approval from his audience. This brings a smile to his face. Choosing to live in this moment and enjoy it rather than bemoan what has led him here, Dean pushes his ass up wantonly. “That’s right,” he whispers to himself, “you know you want it.”

And he does. His body is practically quivering for it right now and his heart is racing and his breath is coming in quick, short pants. “C’mon,” he shouts at Benny without looking up, “I need fucked! Ain’t you got any fuckin’ sack?”

The sting of Benny’s hand smacking his bare ass cheek is well timed. Feeling his flesh reverberate under the man’s palm brings a swell of excitement up into Dean’s chest and a moment later the accompanying sting sends a fresh run of tingles shooting up his spine.

“That all you got?” he shouts, hoping for more.

A beat of silence passes, no one speaking. The only sound he hears is the canned music which has fallen to the background and the only thing to feel is the thump of bass in the floor beneath his feet.

“C’mon!” he shouts again, “What’s a guy gotta do to get laid in this dump? I need some dick!”

Suddenly, Benny is no longer behind him, but beside him. Dean looks up, his body still bent low, feet spread apart and ass thrust upwards in want. The man’s steely eyes bore into him… cold, like Dean had known he could be. “You’re gonna get some dick alright,” he bit out, “but not til I say so. So shut the fuck up or I’ll find something to shove between those cock sucking lips of yours.”

Even at the mention of cock-sucking, Dean’s mouth waters. Filled with lust, he meets Benny’s eye and lets his own stare turn dark and angry. He isn’t going to beg. Not yet. But perhaps if he seems obstinate enough, the man will feel inclined to deliver on his threat.

“Well damn,” huffs Benny, his hands falling to his waist to undo his belt. Dean watches, trying to keep from appearing too eager as the man hastily unbuttons and unzips. His gift of a cock comes rolling out and Dean can’t help but lick his lips, even as he hears Benny marveling out loud over what a cock-slut Dean really is.

For most of his adult life, Dean had been hearing that phrase and he’d never really been able to decide if it was an insult or a compliment and right now he can’t bring himself to care. It’s true of him, without a doubt. The only thing better than a cock in his mouth, is a cock in his ass. Or, better yet, both. And better still? Having both at the same time while someone stood by to berate him for liking it.

Dean doesn’t compliment Benny on his gorgeous cock – doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, he waits and keeps his expression schooled into one of anger and defiance. The stare down is short, as Dean had known it would be. Benny does exactly as Dean had wanted him to. He pushes himself forward and shoves his cock into Dean’s mouth punishingly. Dean opens to take him in, but he only gets a moment to enjoy it. By the time he’s got it wet, Benny is pulling away. Dean’s mouth gapes open with nothing to fill it while Benny takes his himself in hand and smacks Dean across the face with his wet dick.

Keeping his mouth open, Dean shuts his eyes, unwilling to see the triumphant expression on Benny’s face as he enjoys Dean’s humiliation. He lets himself be slapped with that majestic cock several times, licking his lips between strikes in the hopes that it will soon barrel back down his throat. When it does, Dean rocks forward in his restraints. He's so eager that he puts all his weight into the action and sucks down on Benny's dick like it's the last he'll ever taste. Tipping his head and opening his throat, Dean hopes the man will fuck forward and brutalize him.

When the first deep thrust comes, it’s tentative. Benny’s being cautious about Dean and trying not to hurt him. So, Dean looks up at him imploringly and lets the man read permission on his face. In response, Benny goes deeper. Dean goes rigid as his throat is stretched painfully, but he keeps his eyes on Benny as it happens. He sees the man grin and then look out towards the bystanders. With a wave of his hand, Benny calls someone up from the crowd, likely someone he knows. Whoever it is, they are now walking forward to take their place behind Dean. It’s sweet relief to feel hands on his ass, finally, even though he has no idea whose they are. Those hands spread his cheeks apart and reveal his hole to everyone. In response, Dean hears a chorus of voices swell in appreciation of the view.

Even if he wanted to see who was behind him, it isn’t possible in this position. He looks to Benny again and sees the man staring down at him. Those eyes seem to be asking a question. Using his own eyes to silently convey his consent to Benny, Dean then lets them slide shut. He sinks blindly into his work on Benny’s dick, loving the sheer size of the man as he drools around his girth. Simultaneously he’s feeling bursts of pleasure from behind him. It would seem that while someone was still holding his cheeks apart, someone else has stepped up to dish out tiny little swats to his needy hole. It’s incredible. Sensual chills run over his body and Dean eagerly spreads his legs wider because he wants more. Then, he feels wetness. Someone has spit on him between his butt cheeks. Cheers go up from the gawkers who are watching and Dean can only assume it’s because someone has pulled out their cock. More spitting. He can feel the wetness beginning to slide down both sides of his entrance and over his taint.

A moment later he feels something bulbous and wide pressing against his pucker.  His very first John had been big and wide like this and the memory of how it had felt races through his mind and flits back out again as he waits for the inevitable push. That first time he'd been paid to fuck had been awful. Painful, both physically and emotionally. But, with time, Dean had learned to like the feeling of anticipation… that moment when he feels something at his entrance and knows what’s about to happen. These days, he craves it.

Sadly, instead of pushing in, the mystery-cock behind him only teases. It slides up and down his crack a few times, spreading the wetness around. He pushes back against it because he needs it. He wants it so bad. Coming off Benny’s shaft, Dean takes a deep breath and yells, “C’mon already!”

He bends back to his cock-sucking but instead of the satisfaction of penetration, he feels a snap as whoever is behind him slaps their dick against his unused hole. His pucker is probably tight and bright pink right now, and he grins as he imagines how tempting the sight of it would be. He hangs there on his rope, his torso bent almost horizontal, and keeps his legs spread wide as he lets himself be smacked both in the face and on the ass by wet cocks, the crowd jeering as it happens. He's begging for a fuck in front of all these people and being denied but even this level of degradation isn't enough. Hell, his cock isn’t even hard yet. It’s hanging pitifully between his legs. 

When his mouth is filled once more with the weight of Benny’s shaft, Dean sucks fervently, waiting to be taken from behind. He is far too immersed in giving head to notice anyone new approaching. But, suddenly, there is an unfamiliar voice at his ear. Dean’s eyes snap open in response. He still has his face buried in Benny’s crotch when a deep and commanding voice asks, “Do you need help?”

Dean pulls back from his work and blinks up at the man in surprise. As his eyes come into focus to take in the man’s features, Dean feels the trance-like state that he’d slipped into fade away. Reality comes crashing back in. In that moment, Dean becomes aware of the stark reality of what he’s doing and it’s revolting to him. The wide blue eyes that are now locked on his seem both empathetic and oddly curious. It’s the man in the trench coat from earlier. The one he’d hoped would join.

Dean knows that this man means well, but he has shattered the moment and made Dean feel like shit. “N-No,” he stammers, “I-I’m okay. I like it.” That is hard enough to admit that himself, so he really hates having to say it out loud.

“You like it,” the man repeats flatly. “Alright. I thought so, but I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“I’d be better if you’d join,” he sneers, trying to get back into the moment. Then he adds, “I’ve been watchin’ you all night.”

“You want me to… join?” the stranger asks incredulously.

“C’mon,” challenges Dean, giving the man a wink, “Let’s see whatcha got under that coat.” Even as he says it, the hands behind him resume their work. Dean grunts as his hole is snapped a few times in quick succession and when he looks back at the newcomer, the man is slowly backing away.

“Don’t go,” he begs, his voice already raw from sucking dick, “I wanna see it!”

The man pauses, seeming to consider him.

“C’mon, man, cut me a break. Lemme see that cock.”

Benny’s dick is only a few inches from his mouth, but Dean doesn’t touch it. He looks at the blue-eyed man imploringly and challenges him, “You said you’d help me. So, fuckin’ help me. I need you,” he pants, “to show me your cock.”

There’s just a flash of indecision on the strangers face and then, without further hesitation, he pulls his trench coat open. To Dean’s amazement, the man is completely naked underneath. His body is incredible, not too thick and not too thin. His chest is smooth with dusky nipples and his stomach is flat with a perfect treasure trail leading downward. The sight of it draws Dean’s eyes to the man’s dick, which is also just the right size for his build. Its standing there, stiff and proud, jutting out into the room and pointing straight at Dean.

“I wanna suck it,” he shouts, hoping the man will take him up the offer. Keeping his eyes on the blue-eyed man, Dean opens for Benny who immediately shoves back in. Dean curls his lips tightly around the shaft and begins bobbing his head, wetness slurping at the corners of his mouth. Not for a moment does he take his eyes off the handsome stranger who is, apparently, a streaker. Slowly, one hesitant step at a time, the man makes his way forward.

Dean waits patiently for the man to get close enough, still sucking Benny off as he does and making a show of it. At Dean’s rear, the smacks have stopped and now there’s a finger pushing its way in. Finally, there was something up his ass. Dean feels his cock start to grow chubby. Showing his appreciation for the prep, Dean rocks back on the finger exuberantly and continues to preen his ass high in the air as more fingers are added. Still watching the streaker intently, he continues to service Benny as his hole is stretched, paying no mind to the dribbles of spit and pre-cum that slide down his chin.

“What is your name?” asks the man.

“M’Dean,” he mumbles, his lips barely clearing the top of Benny’s dick before speaking.

“I’m Castiel,” the man says in response.

Dean furrows his brow as he contemplates the odd name, but then the stranger continues by saying, “I just thought we should be introduced before I asked you to give me a blowjob.”

“You didn’t ask,” Dean reminds him with a harsh laugh, “I insisted.”

“Regardless,” continues the man, “I’m glad we’ve met. And I hope that you will enjoy this half as much as I will.”

“I think I will,” he winks flirtatiously. And then, at last, the man takes one last step and comes into Dean’s space. Dean hungrily takes the man’s shaft into his mouth. He allows himself the pleasure of giving Castiel a tongue bath to remember… teasing at the slit and then rolling circles around the crown before sinking slowly down to envelop all of him. Castiel’s cock isn’t as big as Benny’s, but it feels good in Dean’s mouth and he likes the taste of the man immediately. Seeking more, he pulls forward on the rope that binds him in an effort to envelop the man fully. Too eager, he pushes too far too fast and gags himself. The action brings pin-pricks to the corner of his eyes, alerting Dean that tears will soon be forming. Now there’s a fire in his belly and he looks up at the blue-eyed man as he sinks back down to the base to repeat the action. The back of his throat stretches to accommodate and the feeling of being split open is suddenly doubled as a dick begins to push into him from behind.

Shivering with delight, Dean backs off of the streaker so as to fully seat himself on the man behind him. He manages to at least keep the tip in his mouth as he enjoys the feeling of penetration, of having something shoved up inside him. He leans back, pulling his binding taught and breathing faster as his hole is spread wide. A chorus of voices sound their approval and began chanting for the man topping. Shouts of, “Drill him,” and “git that hole,” and other filthy challenges fill the stagnant air of the warehouse, louder than the music, and Dean knows he should be ashamed to be the target of their lude cat calls, but instead, it spurs him on. He grins around the tip of the perfect cock on his lips, even as Benny gets tired of waiting around and begins slapping Dean’s face with his heavy dick.

Dean doesn’t open for Benny, too interested in blowing Castiel. Benny finally loses his temper and grabs Dean by the back of his neck, shoving himself in alongside Castiel. With his mouth wrenched open and stuffed full, Dean feels the first traces of pre-cum forming at the tip of his own dick. He’s grown hard and is almost fully erect now. Handling two cocks at once isn't easy, even for a pro. It's much easier to go back and forth between them, which is what he's now starting to do. 

Whoever has pushed into him from behind starts moving, making it was impossible to keep still. His body wants to move, to roll his hips forward and back on the hard shaft that penetrates him. But, as he starts to allow himself to return the thrusts being dealt to him, his blow job inevitably grows sloppy.

His top, sadly, isn’t too well endowed. It soon becomes obvious because they’ve barely gotten started and already Dean’s body is losing interest. He isn’t stretched near wide enough to thrill him and it kind of sucks having so much in his mouth and so little stuffed up his ass.  It’s impossible to come on a small dick and already Dean’s cock is going slack again. The excitement of onlookers and multiple partners is quickly dissipating. Where is that giant cock that had teased at his hole before? Dean needs to finish this guy off quick so he can bring up the next in line. Perhaps they’ll be better. He clutches his cheeks together and bears down. With only spit for lube, the action causes burning but he doesn’t care. He just wants this fucker to come. Pushing back and meeting the man’s thrusts with a clenched hole proves effective and in less than a minute, Dean feels the man’s rhythm falter. His hips stutter and then still as he blows his load and Dean shivers when the cock slides back out of his hole completely. Now that he’s filled with cum, there will be less burning.

Dean grins wickedly at Benny, wondering if the man has any idea what Dean just did. He watches as Benny looks to the audience gathered around them and waves another man in. A cheer goes up from the spectators as the newcomer shoves up behind Dean and sinks in with no preamble.

Dean groans as he is filled again, his hole stretching a bit more to accommodate this new guy who is, thankfully, bigger than the last. As his second top of the night begins to hump, Dean matches his pace and returns his attention to the cocks in his face. He works back and forth between the two enthusiastically as his mind grows fuzzy. The guy at his rear is skilled… a good lay. His dick had found the sweet spot right away, which set Dean’s stomach to churning, and now a warm buzzing sensation envelopes his lower body. Dean arches his back in supplication as he enjoys the steady build-up of pleasure.

It’s hard to give decent head when you’re being fucked from behind anyway, but sadly, Benny seems to notice that Dean prefers Castiel’s cock. He gives Dean a hard look as he withdraws his shiny, wet cock and walks away. Keeping one of his rough hands on Dean's naked body as he walks around behind, Benny shoves the other guy out of the way and takes his place at Dean's backside. 

Suddenly thrilled because he knows what’s coming, Dean adjusts his stance to Benny’s height. With Benny a bit incensed, he’ll likely be rough. A cold sweat breaks out over Dean’s skin as he contemplates an anger bang from a man of Benny’s size.

When Benny presses the head of his dick to Dean’s rim, there’s tension. Two dudes have come and gone and Dean’s hole still hasn’t been stretched enough to accommodate Benny’s massive cock. That broad crown pushes forward and Dean’s hole resists it. Feeling a build of pressure that may have even bent Benny’s dick a little, Dean stops sucking and backs off, gritting his teeth because he's expecting pain when that huge cock finally bursts through the sphincter muscle. A heartbeat later it happens and Dean jerks forward as he's speared, gobbling a wet dick back into his mouth for placation. He garbles a scream around Cas’s dick as the searing pain lights him up from the inside and sends prickles skittering up his spine. Benny gives him no time to adjust, his hips immediately drawing back to sink in again and again. The explosion of pain dissipates as Dean absorbs the thrusts, sucking madly on the tip of Castiel's cock as excitement swells inside him. His hearing is returning and as he becomes aware of the gleeful cheers from his audience, Dean finds himself alight with a crackling electricity that morphs into shivers of delight as his body begins to acclimate to Benny's girth and enjoy it. Giddy now, he grips his own rope just for something to hang on to as he's ridden hard.

Dean widens his stance impossibly farther and arches his back to the breaking point solely in the hopes of getting a few more inches rock-hard cock fed into him. Mixed with the shouts of appreciation from their onlookers, Dean can hear some of them calling him a slut and a whore and shouting at him to take it like a little bitch. It’s sick and he knows it, but he loves being witnessed in these nefarious acts. He loves putting on a show and he loves being defiled and, oddly enough, he loves being scorned and taunted for it. The more people that become involved, the more intensely his body will react.

Castiel’s cock is a gift. It’s the perfect fit for him - big enough to present a mild challenge, but small enough for Dean to use all his best tricks. He allows Benny’s jarring thrusts to propel him forward and takes all he can take of Castiel's cock each time. When Benny pauses for a moment, circling his hips, Dean sinks all the way down on Castiel and shoves his nose into the man’s bush. He breathes in the scent, which is far more agreeable than any other he’s ever known. He’d been riding high on the adrenaline from the crowd and from blowing the streaker, but having Benny put the screws to him from behind is the icing on his cake.  Pulling off Castiel for only a moment, Dean shouts to Benny, “Fuck yeah, Man! You know how to do it!”

The response from Benny is a stinging slap, first to one cheek and then to the other. Over the din, Dean hears the man shout back, “That’s right, you take it how I wanna give it, brotha.”

The crowd roars and Dean grins as he returns to blowing Castiel. Benny begins picking up speed until he’s pounding the fuck out of Dean, his triumphant cock hitting the sweet spot over and over. Euphoria spreads over Dean once again and his stomach is twisting with excitement as he sucks and gets fucked. His pleasure is building even as he hears someone call out, "fuck that dirty whore". Dean is high and floating as he lets their voices feed his inner demon. His dick is heavy now, and it swings beneath him like a pendulum. He can feel it all the way down to his knees. His body seems to vibrate with pleasure as it builds to a climax.

With reckless abandon, Dean impales himself on Castiel over and over. His throat is raw and each thrust bruises the back of his throat but Dean fucking loves it. He moans on it as drool dribbles down his chin and to the floor. Castiel seems lost in it. His eyes are heavily lidded, unfocused, and beads of sweat are forming on his upper lip. Dean grins around the man’s cock as he enjoys the effect he’s having on this interesting stranger.  

Benny is still smacking Dean’s ass occasionally as he jack hammers away and Dean’s certain that his cheeks must be bright pink by now because they feel like they’re on fucking fire. Coming off of Castiel for a moment he cries out in response to the ferocity with which he’s being used and grips the rope that binds him again. What little lubrication had been provided by spit and another man’s cum has dwindled and the burn around his hole is getting to be too much. Dean fights it but soon finds himself grunting miserably from the pain. His cock is still hard beneath him because part of him loves this but Dean hates that part of himself.

Unable to rock back onto thrusts so brutal, Dean goes still, barely hanging on. He feels arms around him and realizes that Castiel is practically hugging him. In his ear, he hears the man’s gravelly voice ask, “Do you want me to stop this?”

Dean hangs on for dear life as he’s ridden hard, iron hands gripping his hips and the crowd going wild. “No way,” he grits out. “But I’ll take some lube if you’ve got it” he pants, going for humor and trying to be cavalier.

To his utter amazement, Castiel takes a step back and fishes into his pocket, retrieving a small bottle of lube. As if that hadn’t been funny enough, the look of pride on Castiel’s face is so over-the-top that Dean bursts out laughing despite the pain he’s in. Benny must’ve noticed what was happening because his battering comes to a stop. With his asshole still speared, Dean holds as still as as possible while breathing so heavily. He doesn't want to move even an inch and cause himself more pain. In that moment of stillness, Castiel tosses the lube over Dean’s head where Benny seems to catch it.

A moment later there’s sweet relief as cool, viscous liquid pours over his hole. Benny pulls back slowly, Dean’s hole burning as it happens. But as he pulls out, the lube continues to pour over that robust shaft and when it sinks back in, it’s blessedly slick and smooth.

Dean sighs contentedly and gives Castiel a nod of thanks. Benny continues to pour lube over the place of their joining as he begins a slow roll of his hips. Before long there’s so much lube that Dean can feel it leaking out and rolling down. 

Benny’s languid humping brings a feeling of sensuality back and without delay, Dean wraps his lips around the Castiel’s tip so he can thank him the fun way. With Benny behind him pumping smoothly, and Castiel’s weight sliding over his tongue, Dean relaxes and begins to move with them again.

Soon enough the heavier fucking resumes. There is still enough residual burn to supply the pain Dean needs to get off but now that there’s fresh lubrication, he can enjoy the pounding instead of just trying to survive it. Benny begins to speed up even more and Castiel is moaning as Dean works him over thoughtfully, providing the best service he can while his body is absorbing the impact of thrusts.

The three of them are building towards a climax together. Castiel has one hand in Deans hair and one wrapped around the back of his neck as he rolls his hips to push himself eagerly into Dean’s ready mouth. The man clutches at him with bruising fingers as he cries out and comes hard down Dean’s throat. Dean chokes on the length of him as he works to swallow down the load.

Castiel stays in Dean’s mouth for a moment, holding Dean to him. Despite his best efforts to keep it in, jizz and spit leak out the sides of his mouth.  Castiel goes soft while still in Dean’s mouth. Dean rolls that flaccid cock around gently with his tongue and swallows repeatedly around it because he just doesn’t want to let it go.

Castiel is petting Dean's hair gently as Dean becomes his cock warmer and it’s almost sweet. Between his legs, Dean’s cock is going soft again. But, in his chest a warmth is blooming that he’s not felt for a long time. When the streaker pulls out and steps back to do up his coat, he keeps unwavering eyes on Dean. Dean holds the man’s gaze despite his body still rocking as it’s fucked from behind. Someone from the crowd steps forward, unzipping as he approaches, likely wanting to take Castiel’s place now that he’s finished. Dean shakes his head in disagreement, the only thing he can do to decline the man since his hands are still bound above his head. For some reason, Dean wants to keep the taste of this man in his mouth and not sully it with the flavor of another.

The approaching man hesitates when Dean shakes his head no, but he doesn’t leave. It’s as if he’s contemplating shoving his way in against Dean’s will. But Castiel steps forward and stands chin to chin with the man until he turns away. Thankful, Dean gives his new friend a bashful smile of gratitude. Castiel moves slowly back into Dean’s space and then, tentatively, he wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and shoulders again. Dean, aching from holding this position so long, pulls on his rope to bring his body more upright.

The movement brings him into even more of a hug with Castiel and the man takes his weight as he leans on him. Behind Dean, Benny adjusts to the new stance. He’s closer now, his chest at Dean’s back. In this new position, Dean is practically standing and is sandwiched between the men. He allows himself to rest his weight on Castiel as Benny plows into him from behind. Eventually, Castiel’s exploratory fingers find their way to Dean’s semi-hard cock where it is nested between them.

He can feel the rough texture of the man’s trench coat on the tip of his cock and he sighs as Castiel begins to stroke him. Resting his head gratefully on the man’s shoulder, he surrenders to the sensual feeling of being stroked as he’s fucked. Benny pushes deeper and Dean’s stomach dips with delight as Castiel cradles his balls and rolls them in his palm. He tugs Dean's shaft in time with Benny’s thrusts, occasionally running his thumb over the tip to spread moisture over his crown.

To Dean’s surprise, this tug-n-fuck is actually doing something for him. He bury's his face in Castiels coat as he moans for more and gets it. Both Castiel and Benny speed up, bringing him nearer and nearer to the edge. Then, Castiel begins to whisper in his ear.

“I know you’re a slut,” he says in his deep timbre, “and I can tell that you need all this. I know you want to be treated badly and that you want other people to watch it happen.”

The man isn’t wrong, and Dean marvels at his perceptiveness even as he bristles at having to hear the words spoken out loud. Still ascending towards climax as he’s physically worked over, Dean clenches his eyes shut in an attempt to block out Castiel’s words. The man’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Dean hears it over the music and the jeering and the loud slap of skin against skin as he’s fucked.

“I know you need these things, Dean, and I don’t care. You are still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean hears the words and they echo around in his brain as his stomach drops low and his balls pull up. With Benny’s next thrust he feels it… that moment right before the climax when you feel it take you over. That fleeting moment of anticipation is usually better than the orgasm itself. But, it’s the orgasm that he craves because that will be the physical embodiment of his happy ending. It’s the release. It’s the spilling out of everything he’s pent up and locked down. Closing his eyes as he’s swept away with the feeling, Dean gushes his load over Castiel’s fist. Benny’s thrusts stutter and still a few moments later, just as Dean is coming back down from his own orgasm. The man pulls out and Dean can’t help but grimace as he feels cum spilling out of his hole and rolling down his leg. 

Looking down, he sees his own spend spattered down the front of Castiel’s trench coat, on his own boots, and on the ground at his feet. Now that he’s had his climax, nothing about this is sexy anymore. He’s done. It’s over. He wants to get out of here.

He knows his hole is gaping open now and still visible to everyone. And, with Benny gone from behind him, Dean feels even more naked than he had before. But, there’s nothing scintillating about it now. There's a sense of incredible relief when his hands are released from their bindings. Gathering himself, he tries to bring his legs together which will hide his hole and help him stand up straight, but he's stayed bent low for so long that he's stiffened like that. It's going to take a few minutes to loosen his muscles and joints. The crowd begins to disperse and as they do, Dean feels Castiel stepping back from him too. Sorrow sweeps over him as he's left alone, struggling just to stand on his own two feet, but then he opens his eyes and realizes that he's not alone. The man, Castiel, is still here. He's just stepped back to unbutton his trench coat.

To Dean’s utter amazement, Castiel then comes forward and brings Dean’s naked body inside the protection of his coat, wrapping it around both of them. Swaddled tenderly like this, Dean feels pinpricks at the corner of his eyes again. He's taken aback by the caring nature of the gesture. Biting down on the emotions that threaten to take him over, he tries to summon the side of himself that has skin as thick as armor… the side of him that laughs in the face of pain and humiliation. Just when he thinks he’s okay to step out of Castiel’s cloak of protection and go find his pants, Benny steps up holding them.

“Thought you might need these brotha,” he chuckles.

Dean steps clear of Castiel and kicks off his boots so he can pull his jeans back on. There’s no need to try and collect the tattered remains of his briefs. As he’s stepping back into his boots, Benny asks if he’d like to be taken home or if he wants to keep partying.

Glancing over at Castiel, Dean tries to seem nonchalant as he says, “You got plans?”

Shaking his head, Castiel says, “No, I plan to go home now. But if you would like to accompany me, I could make you something to eat?”

Dean nods agreement because it doesn’t matter what Castiel's plans are. Dean is along for the ride. The man intrigues him and right now he's feeling very warmly towards him. Turning back to Benny, Dean does the polite thing and thanks him for a good time. Benny suggests they keep in touch and Dean agrees as they part company, though he's not particularly interested at the moment. Seeming to sense it, Benny slips away into the crowd and Dean is left standing with the streaker.

“Well, Cas,” he says with a grin, “Let’s get outta here.”

“Cas?” the man repeats questioningly.

“Well, yeah,” laughs Dean, “after what we just did? Pretty sure you can just be Cas now, huh?”

“I suppose,” he agrees.

“C’mon, what do your friends call ya? I mean Castiel is kinda unusual. I can’t be the first person to shorten it.”

“I don’t have any friends, Dean. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m lacking in ‘people skills’.”

“Aren’t we all,” he placates as they make their way back through the crowd. “So,” Dean tries as they exit, “How long have you been streaking?”

“I don’t streak, Dean. I flash people.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes. A streaker takes off everything and runs that way for all to see. Usually as a joke. I, on the other hand, show myself to only one person and then close my coat back up.”

“Wow. So that’s what gets you off?”

“I suppose. But not really. I just find it exciting. And, I like the feeling of walking naked among clothed people. It’s like I have a dirty little secret because there’s nothing between us but my coat… only they don’t know that.”

“Okay, I get that. What’s it feel like to actually flash someone?”

“It’s thrilling,” he admits with a soft smile. “But it’s not easy. It took me ages to work up the nerve to do it. But I love how it feels to choose someone and then open myself up to them and be vulnerable for just a moment. Also, I love to watch their faces as they see me. I can actually see the different emotions they experience as their expressions change. I get to watch them realize what’s happening and process it. Most people would never admit this to anyone, Dean, but I know that most of them like it. It excites them as much as does me. For them it’s not a sexual thing, I know that. But it’s just something exciting that breaks up the monotony of their life for a while. It gives them a thrill. They tell everyone... talk about it for days. They say things like, 'You won't believe what happened to me yesterday' and they rehash it anyone will listen for weeks. Most of them probably think of it often in the days following. At least, I like to think they do.”

Dean ponders what Cas has said as they walk. They’ve emerged from the same door that Dean had entered with Benny earlier and are now walking down the alley towards the street. He thinks of what it would be like to actually walk up to some stranger on the street, in broad daylight, and flash them; show them what he looks like naked, with no preamble.

“Wow, Cas. And what then? You beat off thinking of it?”

“You’d think so,” he agrees, “but no. Never.”

“So… what then?”

“I flash people because it arouses me. But it doesn’t stimulate me sexually. When it comes to sex, I’m just as normal as anyone else. Well, I guess some people would consider me abnormal simply because I’m gay. I’m normal aside from that.”

Dean nods because he understands what Cas is trying to say, even if it wasn’t said very well. Then, he bursts out laughing as something occurs to him. “Wait,” he says through laughter, “if you don't whack off after flashing... then why did you just happen to have a bottle of lube in your coat when I needed it?”

“Oh, that was my brother Gabe’s idea. He's the one who brought me tonight. I think he feels sorry for me… knows that I'm a bit lonely. He seemed certain that if I went with him, I’d meet someone and get laid. But shortly after we arrived, he met a girl and went off with her. Once he left me alone, I wasn’t going to stay. Social situations are awkward for me. I never fit in. In fact, I was on my way out when I saw you. You had just arrived and –

“And you just had to stay and check me out, huh?”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Were you gonna flash me?”

“No Dean,” he smiles bashfully.

“Well, your brother was right wasn’t he? You met someone. You even got some action,” grins Dean. They walk another block in silence before Dean asks, “How far is your place?” He's trying not to let it show, but he's in pain.

“I’m in that one,” Cas answers, pointing towards a hulking brick building at the end of the street.  When they reach the entrance, Dean sees that the property is listed with a commercial real estate agent. “The place is for sale?”

“Just the ground floor. The second, third, and forth stories have been re-purposed into loft space.” As he’s speaking, Castiel is stepping up to the door and punching in a key code. Dean follows him inside and up a long flight of stairs. They emerge on the second floor landing and walk to the third door. It’s steel and also opens to a pass code that Castiel keys in.

“Wow,” murmurs Dean as they enter. It’s a complete mess; clearly an artist’s space. There’s jars everywhere with dirty liquid in them and each contains dozens of soaking brushes. There are easels with paintings on them, all in various stages of completion. Drop cloths hang over unidentifiable shapes and tables laden with tools and supplies are scattered around the space. Wood crates line one wall and on the other there are canvas paintings of varying sizes, all leaning up against each other like books on a shelf. The windows are huge, industrial, with small panes of glass set into a large lead grid. Some of the panes have been replaced and don’t match. A few are even colored. It probably looks cheerful in the sunlight. By moonlight everything is washed in blue-gray.

“I don’t have much for real food,” says Cas as he leads Dean through the clutter, “But if you’re craving breakfast I can make French toast. Other than that, it’s pretty much just hot pockets and Dinty Moore Stew.”

“You an artist?”

“Yes. In practice if not by trade.”

“What’s your day job?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“I see,” he nods, wondering if that trench coat is one that Cas also wears to an office job.

“And what do you do Dean?” asks Castiel cautiously. It crosses Dean’s mind that Cas might wonder if he’s a hooker. It wouldn’t be far from the mark. That was, after all, his profession for quite some time.

“Tattoos,” he replies proudly. “I’m at a shop over on Bleaker.”

“Crowley’s?”

“That’s the place.”

“They do good work,” affirmed Cas, “or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been inked.”

“Me neither.”

“Wait,” chuckles Cas, pausing with the refrigerator door hanging open, “Have I just met the first tattoo artist in history that doesn’t have a single mark on him?”

“I guess,” Dean shrugs, “I’m gonna do something… I just… well… I haven’t been inspired yet.”

Cas nods understanding, looking back and forth between the contents of his fridge and Dean’s face. “What do you feel like?”

“Breakfast, I guess.”

Cas begins assembling ingredients and Dean takes the opportunity to check out the space. This little kitchen is separated from the studio space. It’s tiny. Adjacent to it is another door and beyond it Dean assumes he’ll find the bedroom. “Where’s your bathroom?” he asks, wanting to clean up.

“Through there,” gestures Cas absently.

Dean follows the man’s direction through the door he’d just been eyeing and sees that, yes, this is the bedroom. There’s a closet door standing ajar and near it is a closed door that Dean assumes is the bathroom. He’s had cum leaking steadily from his ass since they left the club and having walked all the way here, his jeans are now wet with it. Irritated with the mess and feeling uncomfortable in it, he steps inside the bathroom thinking he’ll clean up the best he can. As he’s staring at a stack of washcloths on the shelf, Cas pushes in behind him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude," he says awkwardly, "but you can shower if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, glad for the offer.

“And here,” says Cas, pushing a pair of grey sweats into his hands, “if you put these on, I’ll wash your jeans.”

“Awesome,” he says with relief as he begins to shuck them off.

Cas averts his eyes and Dean grins. “What? Like you haven’t seen it before?”

They both let out a low chuckle and Dean smiles warmly as Castiel leans against the door jamb to watch him walk, naked, to the shower. The water pressure is noteworthy and Dean sighs contentedly as he picks up the soap and begins to wash up. When he lifts his arm to scrub his armpit, his eyes happen to catch a glimpse of Castiel who is still leaning in the doorway. He’d assumed the man would head back to the kitchen, but no; here he is, still watching.

“Quite the voyeur aren’tcha?” he teases. “If you like the show so much, why not just come in and join me?”

A radiant smile stretches over Cas’s face and he starts walking, trench abandoned at the doorway. He steps in beside Dean. The shower stall is huge, but the spray only comes from one nozzle. So, Dean steps aside and allows Cas to share it. They lather up together and rinse. The two bump elbows a few times and laugh it off but Dean doesn't miss the fact that Castiel is plumping up a bit in the steamy shower. After he’s shampooed his hair, Dean reaches a sudsy hand out and grasps Cas’s dick. To Dean’s surprise, the man fumbles away from him looking unsure.

“What’s wrong? You don’t want me to?”

“N-No. It’s not that. I’m just… I guess I’m not used to… well… I’m not used to all this.”

“Bringing someone home with you?”

“Having someone touch me. Want me.”

“Are you kidding? You’re hot as fuck. Who wouldn’t want you?”

“I’m weird Dean. Everyone I meet knows it. I honestly can’t believe you even came here.”

“Well, I’m here,” he says firmly. “And I don’t think you’re weird. Trust me, man, I’ve met some of the worst. You’re not one of them.”

Cas nods and lets the subject drop, but Dean doesn’t feel like his touches are welcome so he keeps his hands to himself. As they exit the shower though, Dean does say, “Look man, I don’t wanna push you, so I’ll just let you call the shots. But if you wanna get some… I’m here. I'll get you off. I'd make it good for ya.”

Cas nods with a thoughtful look on his face and then steps out. Dean follows and is handed a towel. As he dries off Cas steps out, heading back to his bedroom and tying a towel around his waist as he goes. Dean finishes drying off on the bathmat and then steps into the sweats he’s been given. He takes his time in the bathroom, even using his finger and Cas’s toothpaste to freshen his mouth. He looks at himself in the mirror. Dean knows he’s a handsome man. But even at his best angles, he’s not sure that he’s worthy of being considered, ‘the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen’. But, the words are still knocking around in his head. 

Soon enough, the smell of food pulls his attention from his reflection and he heads to the kitchen where he finds Cas who is wearing pajama pants and standing over a frying pan with a spatula in hand. They don’t speak much as they prepare and eat their breakfast but Dean finds the silences to be quite comfortable. When they finish eating, Cas looks at Dean with piercing blue eyes and says, “I can drive you home when you’re ready. But you’re welcome to sleep over if you’d like.”

“I’ll sleep over,” he says without breaking eye contact.

Cas heads to his bedroom, flicking off the light as he leaves the kitchen. Dean follows, pausing at the edge of the bed. When Cas holds the blankets up for him, he climbs in. There’s a window in here, just like the ones in the studio. Moonlight spills through it and tints the room a soft shade of blue. The sheets are cool and fresh on Dean’s clean skin and he turns on his side, bringing one knee up towards his chest the way he usually does when he sleeps. The throbbing from his ass doesn’t relent as he lays down, but dulls a bit now that he’s no longer moving around. He’ll be feeling that for days. Beside him, Castiel stares at the ceiling.

“You seem kinda nervous, Cas.”

“You’re the first man who’s ever slept in my bed, Dean. I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t know how to act.”

“Well Cas,” he sighs, “This is the first time I’ve slept over with someone too. I mean, since I was a kid anyway.”

“You’ve really never spent the night with anyone before?”

“Not for free,” he admits softly. He normally doesn’t acknowledge his shady past to anyone, let alone voluntarily give away details. But, Cas has been so unfailingly honest with him that it makes him want to reciprocate.

“I see,” whispered Cas.

“That’s not me anymore, Cas. I have a normal life now. But for some reason, having a normal life didn’t make me normal. Doing the things I’ve done… it’s changed me. Man, it sucks but I haven’t been normal since I was like fifteen, and maybe not even then.”

“When you walked into that warehouse tonight, Dean, I couldn’t stop looking at you. You were everything I’ve ever wanted to be. Proud. Compelling. Exciting. Sociable. I watched the way you interacted with people… you were so magnetic. Everyone wanted to be near you. I may have wanted you, but I also wanted to _be_ you. Then you started… I didn’t know what to make of it. I thought maybe you’d been drugged or coerced or maybe even –

“Paid?”

“Yes,” Cas whispered, his face full of shame.

“Cas, man, that’s just me. I do that sometimes.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to stare at the ceiling. The room is so quiet that Dean can hear it when Cas swallows. It's hard to tell how much time goes by in stillness and silence, but the soft whisper of sheets moving cuts through the quiet and Dean turns his head toward the sound. He wonders if Cas is getting out of bed. But no, Cas is moving towards him. Dean stays still and watches Castiel slide closer. The man puts his elbow into the pillow and props his head up. Then, slowly, he reaches out with his free hand.

For some reason, the first touch is almost painful. A heavy weight settles on Dean’s chest as he tries to keep his emotions in check. Cas’s fingers skim up and down his arm a few times and then trace over his shoulder. Dean lays there as those fingers explore his body slowly, inches at a time. His chest. His stomach. His hip bone. His thigh. Feather light touches pass over him from shoulder to knee and back again before coming to rest. Eventually Cas drops his head and sinks into the pillow. Still watching Dean, Cas whispers, “I meant what I said to you back there. I don’t care how you want it or need it. I still think you’re incredible.”

Dean’s throat has grown thick and his chin quivers. He’s battling to keep his breathing even. Quiet as it is, there’s no hiding the effect those words have had on him. Losing the fight to keep himself composed, Dean feels a tear slide out and roll down his cheek. Castiel doesn’t look at it. He keeps his eyes locked on Deans and smiles softly.

Dean wants to tell this man how much he wishes he could believe the good things Castiel says about him and how much he appreciates the honesty they’ve cultivated between them. He wants to reciprocate and tell Cas that he’s incredible too – handsome and mysterious and intriguing and honest and kind. But saying any of those things will dissolve the last of Dean’s self-control. Instead, he simply keeps his eyes locked on Castiel until the tension passes and he begins to drift off to sleep.

The following morning, or early afternoon judging by the heat of the sun beating in the window, Dean rolls over and stretches. Before he’s even opened his eyes, he realizes that he’s not in his own bed. The ache in his muscles and persistent throb of his asshole remind him of what he got up to last night. Remembering the high-points, and low-points, Dean finds his mind fixating on Castiel. Memories of coming home with Cas and getting to know him bring a smile to Dean's face despite the inevitable remorse that floods his mind over the risky behaviors he’d engaged in at the after hours club. Thinking of his new friend, Dean opens his eyes to search the bed for him but finds it empty.

Halfway sitting up to look around, he spies Cas sitting in a chair nearby with a pencil and a pad of paper. He looks the way a kid looks when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It’s then that he remembers Castiel is an artist.

“Are you drawing me?” he asks, finding his voice raspy and his throat sore.

“I-I’m sorry,” he replies, “I know I didn’t ask your permission.”

Dean can’t help but smile at the vulnerable expression on the man’s face. In response, Cas smiles too. He ducks his head as he says, “You knew I was an artist… did you really think I would pass up on the chance to draw someone that I was so very attracted to?”

Again, Dean finds himself smiling.

“You’re not angry?”

“That depends,” teases Dean, “on how big you drew my dick.”

Cas chuckles and passes Dean the sketch pad. Sitting up carefully, he pulls the pad into his lap and looks over the drawing. On the paper he’s depicted spread out on his side, one leg pulled up and the other hanging out from under the covers. The only flesh showing is above his waist and his bare chest is the most scintillating thing to see. Dean is surprised by how peaceful his expression is in the picture and the amount of shading and detail given to his facial features.

“Cas, I know dick about art. But this is damn good.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“May I?” he asks, gesturing that he’d like to turn the page and see more of Cas’s work. He gets a solemn nod in response and returns his gaze to the tablet. As he begins flipping pages, it’s surprising to see that there are several sketches of him. Cas must’ve been at it for hours. He’s been drawn from every vantage in the room, the artist’s position given away by the location of the window and furniture in the drawings.

Dean’s eyes skim over his own likeness from many angles. Some are drawn from behind him, the covers low enough to show the curve at the small of his back and the upper portion of his butt cheeks. Another was drawn from the end of the bed to capture a single foot peeking out of the sheets. The last ones that he sees of himself are actually the first that were drawn and those are close-ups of his face. Cas draws him with a sweetness and innocence that he knows he doesn’t have. Or maybe it’s a quality he only possesses when he’s asleep.

“I love them,” he whispers, unable to look up at his new friend.

“Thank you.”

As he continues turning pages, Dean finds that Cas will often draw multiple pictures of the same subject, viewing it from every angle. There’s a series of pictures that were obviously drawn at a park, children playing, an old woman feeding pigeons, a couple walking hand in hand, a dog laying in the sun. There are multiple renderings of most, each drawn from different angles. Past that are several images of old buildings, and then there’s a few bridges, some flowers, it goes on and on. They’re all beautiful.

“Can I see more?” he asks.

“More sketch pads?”

“I just wanna see more of your work,” he says, remembering the studio they walked through in the dark last night.

A wide smile spreads over Castiel’s face as he gets up from the chair. Dean moves to follow him but as he cautiously gets to his feet, nature calls. “Wait,” he says, halting Cas at the doorway. “I gotta piss.” Heading to the bathroom, his muscles scream in protest. His arms are sore from being bound, as is his back. His hamstrings are worse. Even his calves hurt. As he pulls his sweats down and begins a stream into the bowl, he shouts to Cas in the other room. “Mind if I raid your medicine cabinet?”

“Of course, Dean,” comes the answer.

After a double dose of ibuprofen, Dean grabs the mouthwash and rinses his morning breath away. Then he returns to follow Cas out through the kitchen and into the studio. Last night, Dean had assumed that the mismatched glass panes would be bright and colorful in the daytime and he’d been right. The room is full of natural light and there are splotches of warm color where the sunshine is coming through stained glass.

As he’d noticed in the dark, there are indeed jars of soaking brushes, boxes of tools, and stacks of supplies scattered about. But in the light he can see that there are also groupings of colorful glass vases and jars sitting around, vintage coffee cans clustered artfully together, bouquets of flowers and other things that have clearly been set out for the purposes of sketching. There are partially finished canvases loaded with colorful paint perched on easels near the windows. The effect of it all is cheerful and the entire place has an aura of joy about it. Dean can picture Cas in this space, diligently working on something that had inspired him and wishing he didn’t have to stop and go to work.

“Must be hard to leave all this and go to a cubicle.”

“Yes, it is.”

The two spend the better part of an hour walking around and looking at Castiel’s various works in progress. The man explains some of his paintings, what he likes about them and what he doesn’t. His face always lights up though, when he talks of what each will eventually become. Dean is captivated. Not just by the art, but by the man before him.

When hunger presents itself, they head back to the kitchen. Looking into the fridge, Cas says he doesn’t have much and they decide to go out.

“Do you have any plans for the day?” Cas asks him as he pulls Dean’s pants from the dryer.

“Not really. It’s Sunday. I usually just sleep late, clean up a little, and maybe get to the grocery store. Watch some TV. What do you normally do on a Sunday?”

“Well, I go to church with my family most Sundays. Other than that, I mostly spend the weekends in my studio.”

Dean tugs off the pants Cas had loaned him while standing right there in the kitchen. He steps into his jeans commando. Cas doesn’t turn away and when his cheeks redden a little, Dean grins at him. “See something you like?”

“I want to draw it,” he confesses.

A wicked grin finds its way to Dean’s face and before he can even think it through, he’s saying, “After we eat.”

There’s a sandwich shop on the opposite corner and as they step up to the counter, Dean sees a clock on the wall and realizes that the day’s half gone. They grab a tiny table right in the front window to tear into their food and as they eat, Dean watches Cas while Cas watches the people passing on the sidewalk outside.

“After you draw my cock,” says Dean, a bit too loud for a public place, “I gotta get home.” He grins as his friend grows visibly embarrassed by his words.

“I hope to see you again,” replies Cas, finally turning his eyes to Dean. “But if I don’t, at least I’ll have the pictures… of your cock.”

Dean practically giggles at the way Cas is trying to give him a taste of his own medicine by saying the word ‘cock’ loudly and unabashedly amidst other diners. “You know you can have more than a picture,” he grins. “I’ve toldja, if you wanna go there, I’m in.”

Castiel nods vacantly, almost as if he’s picturing it in his head.

“What I wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking right now,” Dean tells him, preparing to stuff his last bite into his mouth.

“I’m thinking about how unlikely it is that I could be sexually fulfilling for you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” he responds softly, obviously trying not to be overheard by other patrons, “I can’t give you what you need. I mean, unless that means just stepping aside. Dean, I can’t do what those men did to you. I can’t tie you up and call you names and slap you around. I can’t just keep fucking you even when it hurts. I just… I don’t have it in me.”

Dean’s heart sinks a little as he realizes that Cas is right. They’re not compatible. They might have been, if Dean hadn’t spent most of his teens and early twenties defiling himself for money; if he was just a normal guy. Normal guys get off _watching_ a gang-bang porno, not participating in one. He can barely get hard for regular sex anymore, let alone really get off from it.

“For what it’s worth,” Dean says, unable to look Castiel in the eye, “I wish I was different.”

Cas sighs and leans back in his chair. “I wish I was different too, Dean.”


	2. Getting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destiella, I hope you like the conclusion. Hugs to you!

The silence is long and stiff as both men avoid looking at one another across their little table. Around them, the mundane sounds of an uptown deli carry on as though nothing has changed. But it has. Dean can feel it. This little thing with Castiel is over. That they are drawn to each other is irrefutable. But Cas is right. They aren’t sexually compatible at all. Because of that, nothing else matters. They could spend more time getting to know each other and try to build something… but it will fail in the end. 

Dean’s finding it impossible to lift his eyes from the empty sandwich wrapper on the table in front of him. Doing so will break the spell that he’s been under since he followed Cas out of the club last night and Dean really, really doesn’t want to let go of the magic he feels with this blue-eyed angel.

He’d known the moment he walked into Cas’s place that he’d never want to leave. But Castiel is like a luxury car. Dean can look at it, appreciate it. Hell, he can test drive it if he wants to. But own it? He could never. It’s just not his destiny. Like a high end Jaguar, Cas belongs in the hands of someone else. Someone who wears leather gloves when they drive and follows a maintenance schedule for tune ups. But Dean? Dean is a guy who changes his own oil and doesn’t change the filter until he _has_ to.

Sure, Castiel might think he’s a loser with no friends. But that’s just because he’s at an awkward phase in his life… like an ugly duckling. Bill Gates probably felt like a loser with no friends once too, but look at him now. And did Mark Zuckerberg have friends in high school? It seems unlikely. The cool kids probably called him Zuckerfuck or Fuckerberg.

Ten years in the future, Cas will likely have grown into a strong, proud gay man who wears designer suits as he walks arm-in-arm with his investment banker type boyfriend at his own gallery openings. He’ll probably still live in a loft, but it will be upgraded, the mess confined to the back while the front artfully displays his works to the masses who attend his fabulous parties.

The truth isn’t pleasant, but Dean has to acknowledge it. Even if they could somehow work through their sexual incompatibilities, Dean will still not be a good fit for someone like Castiel. The only logical thing to do is get up and leave – thank this man for last night and go. He knows that, but it’s hard. Harder than it should be.

Dean can easily let go of the idea of a luxury car. It’s just a car. He has his baby and he loves her; he doesn’t need or really even want another car. But it’s not the same with Cas. There’s a desperate longing inside him and painful tightening in his chest at the thought of never seeing this man again. Unlike his metaphorical Jag, Dean isn’t okay with just leaving this one on the showroom floor and walking away.

So, with the full understanding that he’s being selfish and short sighted, Dean finally looks up. He meets the skittish eyes across the table from him and works to make his voice come out even.

“Look, Cas, you’re right,” he says firmly, “it wouldn’t work between us. If I wasn’t like this, we coulda maybe had somethin’. But I am like this and it sucks. But I still wanna see you again… even if we’re not bumpin’ uglies.”

Castiel bursts out laughing at that, his shiny eyes crinkling at the corners and Dean feels encouraged. “I like you, man,” he continues, gathering his trash and balling it up. “And you could use a friend, am I right? I mean, you said you didn’t have many. Maybe we could just hang out, ya know? As friends?”

“You want to be friends,” repeats Cas slowly, appearing to consider the offer.

“Yeah, Cas, I do.”

“I’ll think about it,” he replies, even though it’s obvious to Dean that Cas’s instincts are already warning against the proposition.

“Awesome,” says Dean, grinning as he stands. He takes aim at the nearby trash bin and easily tosses his paper ball into it before pushing his chair back in. Castiel rises more slowly, gathering his own papers and napkin for disposal. They walk out the door together and Dean follows Castiel back towards his building. He’s still sore between the cheeks and his muscles are stiff. The result is a stilted gait. But, he follows along as Cas passes by the front entrance to his loft and leads Dean alongside it. When they turn the corner, Dean finds that they’re entering a parking garage. They take an elevator up to the one of the top levels where they walk in shadow, daylight pouring in from all sides and the sounds of city traffic still audible.

“What do you pay to park up here?” asks Dean, curious.

“It’s not cheap,” chuckles Cas, “but I have no car payment so it all evens out.”

Dean stops dead in his tracks as he takes in the man’s ride. “Dude,” he breathes as his eyes rove over every inch of the disco-era relic, “That’s a pimp-mobile if I ever saw one. Is that a ’78?”

“It is,” smiles Cas as he walks around to the driver’s side of the Lincoln. “My father said that I should have something sturdy for my first car… that I was likely to wreck it and he wanted lots of metal between me and whatever I crashed into.”

“Jokes on him, right?” laughs Dean as he opens the passenger door to slid in. “You’ve kept this thing mint.”

“I suppose,” sighs Cas as he starts it up, “but when he found out I was gay, he kicked me out. I wound up living in it for a while.”

“That’s rough,” whispers Dean, unsure what else to say.

“It’s in the past,” replies Castiel with a shrug. “He’s still opposed to my lifestyle,” adds Cas, making air quotes with his fingers as he says the word ‘lifestyle’. “But, he says that he loves me anyway and admits that it was wrong to have put me out. My parents are a long way from accepting what I am, but at least they tolerate the parts of me they’re not a peace with.”

“Probably best not to tell them you flash people, right?” chuckles Dean, going for humor to deflect the very serious turn this conversation has taken.

“I won’t argue that,” grins Cas as he backs out of his parking space. Dean looks around the interior of Cas’s car. It’s messy, much like his living space, but not foul. There are no old bags of food or empty soda bottles rolling around on the floor, just a clutter of books and papers that have likely been building for quite some time.

“Where to?” asks Cas as they roll out of the parking garage and into traffic.

“Trixx,” answers Dean, “It’s on Seventh Street, about a mile past the river.”

Castiel nods and keeps his eyes on the road so Dean leans in to turn on the radio. He uses the dial to roll past several stations until he finds one playing a decent tune. It’s easy to relax in the crushed velvet seat which is surprisingly comfortable and he finds himself digging the ride. When they approach the bridge, Dean sits up a little straighter noticing that it looks different somehow, though he can’t put his finger on why.

They’re headed back to the bar where Dean had left his baby last night and it isn’t until the Lincoln pulls into the deserted parking lot that Dean figures out why the bridge had looked so different to him today. It’s because he’s seen it in Castiel’s sketch pad. The drawing had emphasized its character… its old fashioned street lamps and shapely arches. He’d never noticed the beauty of it before. Until today, the bridge had simply been the bridge.  But now, having seen it through Castiel’s eyes, Dean is seeing it in a whole new way. He can’t help but smile warmly at the realization.

He directs Cas toward the other end of the lot where his baby is, thankfully, still sitting right where he left her. When Cas pulls into a neighboring parking space, Dean finds himself growing sad at the prospect of parting company. Begrudgingly, he sits forward and opens the door. With one foot on the pavement and the other still in Castiel’s car, Dean turns to thank him for the ride - and for last night. But, before he can speak, Castiel surprises him.

“Okay Dean,” he says with an uncertain smile, “let’s be friends.”

“Awesome,” he says with a grin. Thrilled beyond measure, Dean whips out his phone and pushes it into Castiels hand. “Put your number in there,” he says, still smiling like a fool.

Cas turns his attention to the device and enters his information. When he passes the phone back to Dean, the man seems to purposefully keep their fingers from brushing. Dean tries not about to let that dull his joy. Honestly, he understands. It’s an unspoken boundary: no unnecessary touching. They’re going to be friends. No touching. No tasting. No dirty talk. Just friends.

As it turns out, though, Dean’s got a lot to learn about being friends. He’s been out of Castiels presence for less than a week when he begins to grow frustrated. He wants to see Cas again, but has no idea how to make that happen.  He’s got the man’s number, but what to do with it? He could call and see if Cas wants to grab drinks, but that’s asking him out on a date.

Trying again, he thinks of bowling. That’d be fun, right? Friends do stuff like that, don’t they? But when he picks up the phone to call, he realizes he’d just be asking Cas out for bowling instead of drinks. It’s so confusing. Dean’s got friends… why is it never weird like this with them?

Ash is his friend. They work together at the tattoo shop. But, when they go out for drinks, it’s always something that just evolves naturally during the work day. One of them will say something about needing a drink and the other will agree and then when their shift is over, they go. Neither has ever called to invite the other out for drinks, or any other activity for that matter.

There’s Mick, also from the tat shop. He’s a friend, if you want to play it fast and loose with the word friend. Mick comes along for the occasional drink after work, but he’s snobby and tends to spend more time with Crowley than with either Dean or Ash.  

Crowley has called Dean and invited him for drinks, but that’s not a good comparison. Though they profess to be friends, Crowley would like more and Dean has to deal with that. In fact, his relationship with Crowley is difficult all around. He’s got a job he loves and wants to keep it. Because of that, he has to be very careful in how he shoots down the man’s subtle attempts to sexualize their relationship. So, yeah, Crowley should likely not be on his list of real friends.

As he mulls things over, Dean starts to realize that Castiel isn’t the only one who could use a few friends. Dean’s got exactly one… Ash. And clearly they’re not as close as he’d originally thought. Honestly, it would seem that if they didn’t work together, they’d not be friends at all.

While raising Sammy, Dean’s focus had been solely on providing for his brother and caring for him – there had been zero time or energy left over for anything else. That’s probably why having Sam go off to college had been so thrilling. Yes, it was the culmination of all Dean had been working towards since before he was even old enough to drive. But, Sam’s departure had also brought him freedom like he’d never known. With Sammy housed in a dorm and set up on a meal plan, all of which was being paid for with scholarships and financial aid, Dean’s only remaining responsibility was to himself. His time and money were his own.

With his focus now on his own life, rather than his brothers, Dean had found it almost too easy to quit selling himself. In hindsight he realized that, because of Sammy, he’d avoided most of the major pitfalls that keep hookers hooking. He wasn’t strung out on drugs, he wasn’t indentured to a pimp, and he wasn’t in debt up to his eyeballs. He took the first job he could find that promised a decent paycheck, loading and unloading at a distribution center warehouse from eleven at night until seven in the morning. After a few months of verifiable income, he’d been able to do for himself what he’d already done for Sammy. Fill out a FAFSA and get financial aid.

A few classes at the community college had led to an apprenticeship at Crowley’s and the rest was history. As he considered his friendships, or lack thereof, Dean could see why he had none. Up until a year or two ago, Dean’s life had only been about survival for himself and his brother - no room for a social life.  Then, when he’d transitioned into gainful employment, his peers had been comprised mostly of parolees and migrant workers who barely spoke English. No wonder he’d not made friends. It had been a whole new ballgame at community college. There he’d been surrounded by people who were not only years younger than him, but who were so vastly different in life experiences that he couldn’t relate to them or fit in at all. He’d done his coursework and done it well, but he’d not made even a single friend.

Yeah it’s hard to admit, but Castiel clearly isn’t the only one who could use a new friend in his life. With that in mind, Dean puts away his inhibitions and tries not to overthink things. He types up a quick text message… _Wanna hang out?_

Waiting for a response isn’t easy. He paces the length of his kitchen, unable to occupy himself with any other task until, finally, the answer comes through… _Yes._

_You eat yet?_

_No._

_Want to?_

_Ok._

Dean smiles, continuing their text conversation with a suggestion of venue. Cas agrees and they decide to just meet there, which makes Dean feel even better because if neither is picking up the other then it absolutely will not seem like a date.

They meet at the steakhouse, Dean seeing Cas perched at the bar as soon as he enters. Making his way over, he tugs off his jacket and lays it over the back of an adjacent bar stool.

“Hey buddy,” he says in greeting. “Didja get us a table?”

“I did,” answers his friend, “but it’s going to be a forty-five minute wait.”

“Wow. Forty-five minutes,” he chuckles as he climbs onto his stool. “I can run up a pretty hefty bar tab in forty-five minutes.”

“Well, then,” deadpans Cas, “I suppose you’d better start your own.”

Dean smiles as the bar tender approaches, ordering his usual as he hands the man his card. Turning his attention back to his friend, he asks, “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“It’s a rum and coke,” says Castiel. “I’ve always liked them.”

“Damn, it smells good in here,” Dean comments, the scent of grilled meat wafting over as a waiter passes by them carrying a heavy tray.

Around them, the muffled sound of other conversations is at war with the background music. Dean leans forward as his whiskey sour is delivered.

“So,” he says, curious about what Cas has been up to since they parted, “you been in the studio much this week?”

“I have,” he answers with a radiant smile. “I finished up that painting you liked… the abstract that was near the far window.”

“The one that’s mostly blue?”

“Yes.”

“How’d it come out?”

“Better than I expected. I started another, but I’m not sure it’s going anywhere.”

“What is it?”

“Another abstract. It’s darker though. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but I felt compelled.”

Dean nods, already wanting to see it but not verbalizing his desire for fear that Cas will think he’s just angling to go home with Cas.

“What have you been up to, Dean?”

“Well, funny you mention starting new things. I’ve been putting down some stuff of my own. Honestly, I don’t do much for designing. I can recreate almost anything, but originals really aren’t my thing. Usually. But I did start something the other day, and I like what I’ve got so far.”

“What is it?”

“Just a design, I guess. I’ve filled about twenty pages of a sketch book with variations of it. I just have to settle on one and then I can work on anchoring it.”

“I’d like to see it,” says Cas, leaning closer.

“Maybe next time we get together, we should bring our books,” grinned Dean. It hadn’t escaped his attention how easily Castiel had expressed his desire to see Dean’s work and it’s a sharp contrast to the way Dean had second guessed the same impulse and remained silent. One of the things he’d liked about Cas from the start was the way he just said what he meant without embarrassment or apology. Deep down, Dean wishes he could be more like that.

They talk of their projects and plans through a few rounds and are eventually shown to a table. Dean’s got a decent buzz going and orders indulgently. The conversation falls away when the food arrives and they eat in comfortable silence for a while. The steak Dean ordered is delicious, juicy and rich, its warm pink center practically melting on his tongue. He’s eating crusty bread rolls from the basket too, slathering them in honey butter.

Castiel starts slowing down and soon leans back in his seat, exhaling in satisfaction. Dean polishes off the rest of his meat despite his full stomach, unable to leave any behind. Then, he tucks in one last roll for good measure.

“You seem to really like those,” ventures Castiel, still reclined.

“Yeah, I’m not sure if it’s the roll or the honey butter I like, but these are damn good.”

“I love honey,” confides Cas, as if it’s a secret, “but I prefer it on wheat bread. White bread is just so… pasty.”

Dean grins at the way Cas’s nose crinkles in disgust as he says it and then leans back to listen as Castiel describes for him the fascinating process of honey collecting and bee keeping. His narrative eventually spreads out to encompass the social interactions of bees as well as the current crisis of dwindling bee populations.

Dean is drawn in as he listens. If he were hearing all of this on the discovery channel, he’d be snoring by now. But for some reason, when Cas is speaking, Dean finds the subject matter downright interesting and he hangs on every word.

When the bill is dropped on the table, they both reach for it. Laughing, they both try to insist. In the end, Dean suggests they split, since this isn’t a date. Castiel agrees easily and when they leave, Dean is sad to part. There’s an awkward moment in the parking lot, neither really sure how to say good-bye or goodnight. They do a strange little dance where Dean considers going in for a hug and thinks better of it, Castiel having leaned in too and having to pull back in reaction to Dean’s indecision. Both men wind up laughing nervously, and then Dean reaches out and thumps Cas on the shoulder saying, “See ya, buddy.”

In the wake of their companionship, there’s something a little sad about heading off alone. As he walks to his baby, Dean wonders if Cas feels it too… that yearning for more between them. Driving home he begins to wonder why they’re not more – why the hell he’s working so hard to keep them from becoming a couple. Then he remembers that he’s a deviant fuck who can’t enjoy normal sex. That’s when his pleasant mood starts to sour. He considers stopping off at a bar. He passes a few but doesn’t pull in because he knows that doing so would ruin this otherwise pleasant evening. He has a bubble of contentment in his chest right now which had been growing ever larger as he spent time with Cas. Now that he’s alone, it’s shrinking, but still there, and he wants to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Its three days later that Dean gets a call from Castiel. A surge of excitement swells in his chest as he answers. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“I’m good, Cas, how ‘bout you?”

“I’m well. I thought I’d see if you wanted to come with me to the museum. They’re hosting a show of medieval art and armor.  It seems like something you might like.”

“Seriously? Like, knights and shit? Armor? Hells yeah!”

“When would you like to go?”

“Whenever,” he says, trying to tone down his enthusiasm and play it cool.

“Well, it’s in the city,” replies Cas cautiously. Dean can feel Castiel's doubt through the phone. It's as if he thinks Dean will reconsider going if he knows the event might be a hassle.

“No problem,” he says, trying to reassure. “But maybe we should do it on Sunday when I don’t have to work. That way we’re not rushed. I mean, it’ll probably take over an hour just to get there.”

“Alright, I’ll get tickets for Sunday. Do you want to drive in together?”

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees, knowing that driving separately into the city would be ridiculous. “What time?”

“I’ll text you when I’ve bought the tickets.”

When Sunday rolls around, Dean finds himself trying on several different shirts. He looks at himself in the mirror, uncertain, and then changes his pants. Still not satisfied, he tries each shirt again. In the back of his head, there’s a little voice whispering to him, “If you take more than two minutes deciding what to wear, then it’s a date. You’re going on a date.”

Out loud he curses the inner voice and defends himself with the notion that he simply doesn’t know how to dress to visit a museum. He’s never even been to one before. If he’d visited one on a field trip as a child, the memory is lost to him now.

When he hears a knock, Dean settles for what he’s got on at the moment. He may be wearing jeans, but they’re dark in color and fit him well. The overall effect is less sloppy than his usual garb. As always, he’s wearing a t-shirt. But, instead of a flannel shirt over top, he’s got on a dark button down. It seems dignified enough. Checking himself in the mirror as he passes by it, Dean pops a stick of gum in his mouth and answers the door.

“Cas,” he grins, “glad you found the place. C’mon in.”

With a wide smile, Castiel steps in the door and walks into the center of the living room. It’s just a regular apartment… there’s thousands of them exactly the same. White walls, neutral carpet, open floor plan. The fixtures are bland and inexpensive, as is Dean’s furniture. He’s aware that his place is nothing special. But to him, it’s a palace. It’s not a motel room with a weekly rate like those he and Sam had grown up in. There’s nothing questionable on the bedspread or curtains and there’s no funky mildew smell permeating the air.

Castiel seems interested enough as he looks around, his eyes roving over the posters that Dean has framed and hung, the most prominent of which is a movie poster featuring a black and white image of Al Pacino as Scarface that hangs over his couch.

“Is this your brother?” asks Cas as he leans in and looks at an 8 x 10 hanging near the breakfast bar.

“Yeah,” says Dean, reaching into the coat closet to pull out his jacket. “That’s his grad picture. This one’s newer,” he adds, pointing out a snap shot that’s framed and perched on the end table. In the photo, he and Sam are standing together in front of the Admissions building at Stanford, their arms flung around each other’s shoulders and both wearing huge smiles. That day had been one of the best of Dean’s life.

“Drove him out there myself,” says Dean proudly, “helped him get set up in his dorm and met his roommate. It was a blast. I kinda hated to come back here… ‘specially with nothin’ to really come back to.”

“Why did you then?” asks his friend, a puzzled look crossing his face.

Dean frowns, trying to find a way to put his thoughts and feelings into words. “Dunno,” he admits. “I guess I just needed to respect that California was his life and not mine. I mean, the whole point was to get Sammy outta here. Ya know? Give him a new life. What kind of life would it be if his brother followed him out there, right?”

“I suppose,” allows Cas.

“I know it sounds weird,” Dean adds, “but I wanted him to have his own space. He’s got his whole life ahead of him and he doesn't need me gettin' in the way.”

The look on Castiels face makes Dean’s stomach drop. He’s not sure what he’s said wrong, but it’s clear that Cas wants to give him a lecture. Seeking to avoid it, Dean turns toward the door and says over his shoulder, “You ready to go?”

“Y-Yes,” answers Cas. They step outside into the warm sunshine of an early fall afternoon. As Dean’s locking up, Castiel seems to be taking a look around.

“You have a pool.”

“Yeah, I don’t use it much, but it’s nice to have one around if the mood strikes.”

Heading out into the parking lot where Cas’s Lincoln is waiting, Dean notices that Cas is still preoccupied with their surroundings.

“You have a fitness club too. There’s a lot of amenities here.”

“Yeah,” sighs Dean as they climb into the car.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Couple years now… three I think? We moved in when Sammy was a junior. It was a big day for us. Until then, it had pretty much been flea bag dives. We had no furniture or anything at first - slept on air mattresses for a while. But it felt like paradise. The bus picked him up here for school and everything. It was our first real home in ages. It took me a while to scrape together enough for beds and furniture and shit, but I kept at it. Bought most everything used, but we had what we needed. Plus, man, Sammy loved that pool. He thought we’d fuckin’ made it big time.”

“Dean,” says Cas, putting the car in reverse but keeping his foot on the brake, “I think it’s incredible what you’ve done for your brother.”

Dean’s face suddenly grows hot and he feels embarrassed for having rambled on about such personal things. “Thanks,” he says curtly, turning to face out his window and avert prying eyes, “but it’s what anyone would’ve done.”

“No,” says Cas firmly, “it’s not.”

A long awkward pause falls over them as the Lincoln backs out of its parking space and navigates the winding road that connects all the buildings in Dean’s complex. The Lincoln is a beast of a car, but it’s comfortable and the ride is smooth. They head northwest out of town and as Castiel merges onto the freeway, Dean finds himself relaxing. He reaches out and tunes in the radio, scanning stations. He stops when he hears Boston singing _More Than A Feeling_ and leans back to enjoy an old favorite.

It takes longer than expected to reach their destination, but when they do, Dean finds himself marveling at the magnificent architecture of Chicago. He’s no stranger to the city, but seeing the better parts of it during daylight hours, and in the comfortable company of a friend, is unexpectedly enjoyable. They walk from parking to the museum and leave the rest of the world behind. Inside those heavy doors, Dean is immediately swallowed up in a vacuum of silence. There are lots of people, but all are speaking in hushed and reverent voices. Dean hangs back and lets Cas lead him into the exhibit.

The first room pulls Dean into the period easily, boasting a large sculpture which Castiel discusses with him at length as they move slowly around it. Their path takes them through room after room, each more interesting than the last. There are huge altar pieces from Europe, each displayed in the context of its original religious background. There are showcases of luxury goods and jewelry as well as the material elements of great feasts. In an elegant rotunda they enter the collection of arms and armor. Dean can’t help but be drawn into the medieval times and his imagination runs wild as he moves from display to another. Cas is with him the whole way, reading the details to him and discussing the curiosities they share.

Both men are fascinated by the weaponry of those days, and the culmination of the show is a life-sized recreation of armored figures on horseback, one dressed for battle and the other for sport. There’s an entire area devoted to swords and Dean’s finding it hard to keep his voice down as they discuss the pieces, pulling each other from one to the next like school boys.

When they reach the end, they’re deep in a discussion of the legend of Saint George and the Dragon. Suddenly, Cas stops in his tracks. “Wait,” he says, “I almost forgot. The tickets I bought come with passes for the skydeck.”

“Skydeck?”

“Yes, Dean. The skydeck. The ledge. Have you heard of it?”

“I think so… is it, like, a glass cube where you can step out and look down?”

“Yes. It’s over a thousand feet up. Would you like to try it?”

“Fuck yeah,” he replies enthusiastically. It’s only Castiels face that reminds him of his surroundings. He glances around to see others looking at him angrily.

“Sorry,” he whispers to Cas, “and, yeah, let’s go up.”

Laughing quietly to themselves, they exit the show and head up to the ledge. They have to wait quite a while but when it’s their turn, Dean is stunned by how nerve racking it is to step out onto the glass platform. It’s perfectly safe and he knows that, but for some reason it just feels like tempting fate.

He’s exhilarated as the two of them lean forward and take a big step into it, this cube of glass that protrudes from the surrounding sky-scraper to hang out over the city. They take in the view from each side, out, and down. Dean looks over at Castiel, breathless, and meets his friend’s eyes. They dance merrily, gleefully, and they’re so much bluer than the sky that serves as a backdrop. Dean’s enthralled and before he can stop it, his mouth has run away with him. “Magnificent,” he marvels aloud.

Thankfully, Castiel seems to think that Dean’s referring to the ledge, rather than looking into Cas's glassy eyes at this moment.

Later, as they wait in line for the elevator down, Dean feels his stomach growl ravenously. “You hungry?” he asks.

“Yes. What do you feel like having?”

“We’re in Chicago, Cas. We gotta get pizza.”

By the time they’re back at the car, it’s almost dark. They climb in the Lincoln and head towards the lake. On their phones, Giordano’s looks to be close. But getting there takes a while and by the time they’re parking again, Dean’s hungry enough to eat his own hand.

“I’m starving,” he growls as they walk through the entrance. The rich scent of marinara hangs thick in the air and the heavenly smell has Dean’s mouth watering in anticipation. The place is decorated predominantly in red and when they’re seated in a booth, they don’t wait to order.

Dean settles in to wait for their food, nursing his beer as he and Cas chat about all they’ve seen today. When the pizza is delivered, the waiter makes a show of lifting each slice high from the pan so that unbelievably long stretches of melted cheese are created. Once they’ve been served and their beverages refilled, they’re left alone to enjoy.

Dean’s never had pizza like this before. Each bite is sinfully delicious and when he serves himself a second slice, he’s stunned by how heavy it is. Flopping it clumsily on his plate, Dean laughs and then does his best to serve Cas a slice too.

“The waiter made this look easy,” he says through gritted teeth. “It ain’t easy.”

“Thank you, Dean,” smiles Cas as he digs in.

Less than five minutes later, the men are both leaning back with a hand on their stomach, and Dean can’t help the mournful tone in his voice as he says, “I can’t fuckin’ believe it. I’ve never stopped at two pieces of pizza before.”

“You didn’t even finish your second,” teases Cas.

“I don’t know where you put all that,” laughs Dean, eyeing Cas’s empty plate.

It’s not too much longer before the bill is deposited on their table. Dean grabs it, wanting to pay since Cas bought the tickets and paid to drive in. His friend doesn’t argue, just smiles at him in acknowledgement.

When they step outside, the air is chilly and Dean is glad to have his leather jacket with him. Cas is wearing a coat too, though not his trench coat. Good thing too – because now that Dean knows about Cas flashing people, he doesn’t think he could ever take that garment seriously as a coat. He’ll always assume that his friend is naked beneath it.

“Nice night,” says Cas as they amble back towards the car.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out, Dean steps closer and drops his arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “I gotta say, Cas, I’m really likin’ this ‘friend’ thing we got goin’.”

“Me too, Dean.”

“Man, I never did anything like this with anybody. Ever. Do you do stuff like this all the time?”

“No Dean, I don’t. But these are the kinds of things that I would do… if I had friends to do them with.”

Their first meeting was certainly odd, and they’ve not spent much time together yet, but Dean can already tell that he’s going to love having Castiel in his life. Just thinking about it brings a warmth to his chest that radiates outward and he’s taken a dozen more steps in euphoria before he realizes that he’s still walking with his arm around Castiel.

Chastising himself, Dean lifts his arm away and puts his hands into his pockets. It’s going to be a challenge to keep himself from wanting more than friendship with this man. But, clearly, it’s going to be worth the effort. Never before has Dean felt so happy for so many hours in a row. Not once has he spent an entire Sunday without missing his brother. And he honestly doesn’t know if there’s ever been a day where he’d been so completely satisfied with his life. Cas is good for him, there’s no doubt about it.

This time, there’s no awkwardness when they say good night. Cas simply pulls into a parking space and waits while Dean exits the car with a final “Thanks again, Cas. This was awesome.” Then, as Dean walks to his door and unlocks it, Cas waits with the motor running to be sure he gets in okay.

He heads straight to the bathroom to take a piss and then flops down on his bed. He’s still smiling. Even when he notices it, he can’t stop. And why is he trying? Being happy feels so damn good; he should let himself enjoy it.

The wee hours of the morning find Dean still perched on his bed, but not sleeping. His creative engine is revving from all he’s seen and learned today. In his lap is a sketch pad and he’s been working in it for so long that his neck is stiff and sore. And for his trouble, he now has page after page of pictures that show a progression of his tattoo design morphing from something vague and small into something far more powerful. The old design has been sharpened and is now centered with the neck of a dragon wrapped around one edge. Resting heavily on the beasts neck is a foot. The vivid mental picture he’d put to paper was clearly inspired by the legend of St. George and the Dragon that he and Castiel had discussed today. He’d never even heard of it before, but as they’d looked at a dark painting amidst other relics of the age, he’d felt something stirring in him.

Now, as he sits back and looks at his most recent rendering, he can see that it's his own foot crushing the dragon’s neck. But what is the dragon? His father? His past? He has no clue. All he knows is that he's determined to continue reworking it until he’d able to work a knight’s breastplate into the design.

Winter is surprisingly short and mild, and as it passes, Dean and Cas are cementing their friendship. Spring becomes summer quickly and Dean finds himself enjoying his life far more than ever before. Having a real friend is new to him and he’s doing things now that he’s never done before… like go to the park. They do that often. Sometimes Dean will just hang out while Cas sketches and other times they’ll bring a football or Frisbee to toss around. He’d never bothered to actually go to a fireworks show on the 4th before, but he finds that even the lines and crowds and overpriced refreshments are enjoyable in Cas’s company.

As the summer reaches its heated crescendo and begins to retreat, both men are busy enjoying the town they’ve been living in for years but had never really explored. They spend a weekend at the music festival and take in the air show a week later.

Now, with autumn setting in to chill the air, Dean finds it hard to believe that they've been friends for a whole year. He and Cas begin to talk of what they’ll do when snow starts falling and how they’ll spend the holidays and Dean expresses his hopes that Sammy will visit this year, rather than Dean flying out to California. He wants to give his brother a snowy and authentic holiday and he really wants his brother to meet his best friend.  Castiel is now a regular at the tattoo parlor, stopping by from time to time to pick up Dean when they have plans or to bring him food when back-to-back clients make it hard to leave and get a meal.

Dean’s still working on his own personal design, often wondering what part of his body he’ll cover with it.  But, as it evolves, the shape changes constantly and that makes it hard for him to picture where it will be inked when it’s finished. He had finally managed to get a breastplate into the image by taking his original small design and loading it onto the shield in the place normally reserved for a royal crest. And though he's proud of what he's created, something is still missing. Dean's following Castiel's advice, though, trying to be patient and let the rest come to him organically instead of pushing for completion.

Castiel spends most of his weekends in the studio – that much hasn’t changed. But, now a days, Dean is often there with him; except on Friday nights when they almost always go out and do something fun together. Saturdays, after work, Dean will drop by the loft and let himself in. He watches Castiel work, either sitting by quietly or talking to his friend about anything and everything. Sometimes he just settles into a comfy spot near a window and works in his own sketchbook, quiet hours passing too quickly as they both loose themselves in their projects.

Dean likes to sleep late on Sundays, but he’s not missing anything at the studio because Cas always goes to church with his family on Sunday mornings. By afternoon, both men are usually together at the loft. If Dean’s not feeling inspired to work on his tattoo design, he’ll occupy his time in the studio with Cas, sometimes reading a book or napping lazily in the warmth of a sunny window while Cas loses himself in the creative process. On Sunday nights, Cas tends to stay up way too late, working on whatever project he’s into. He’s usually cranky too, Dean’s noticed, likely because he’s irritated that his free time is over and he has to go back to work in the morning.

That’s certainly the case tonight. Dean watches as Cas steps back to look at his latest painting. It’s a huge canvas – an ambitious piece. He’s going somewhere with it, but has deviated from the direction Dean thought he’d take. The bright colors have turned muted as the canvas has been reworked and the lines which were initially sharp are now softer. Staring at it from behind Castiels slumped shoulders, Dean can feel the indecision that’s present in each stroke.

“I think you need to sleep on it,” he says softly.

“I work tomorrow,” Cas bites back.

“Sometimes a little time away helps,” he replies. It’s something that Cas has said to him before and he knows it’s true. He also knows that those words are hard to hear.

Without uttering a word, Cas drops his dripping brush to the floor and stalks away. Dean doesn’t move from his perch near the window. As Castiel crosses the threshold from the studio to his tiny kitchen, he flicks out the overhead lights. Dean’s plunged into darkness as well as silence, the hum of fluorescent lights having gone unnoticed until it’s absent. He stays still as his eyes adjust, the moonlight of a clear fall night spilling in to replace blackness with a silvery gray that is both cool and soothing. From the other end of the loft, the sounds of Castiel pawing through his kitchen cupboards remind Dean of his stomach, which is gnawing at him.

He enters the kitchen tentatively and lurks in the doorway and waits for a sign from Cas to let him know that his presence is welcome. It will come. It always does.

Less than a minute ticks by before Cas tips his head in Dean’s general direction and says, “Beer?”

“Sure.”

With his back still to Dean, Cas pulls one out the door of the fridge. The only light in the kitchen is a wedge of pale yellow that shines out of the open refrigerator. Dean flicks on the overhead light as he reaches for the bottle being handed to him. Cas glances his way and then extracts some lunch meat and condiments. Dropping the food on his countertop, Cas gives a labored sigh and begins putting together sandwiches. “Mayo?”

“Sure.”

Dean’s still leaning in the doorway, but he steps closer when Castiel reaches up and tunes in the old radio that sits near his toaster. Dean pulls two plates and a bag of chips down from an adjacent cupboard and carries them to the little table while his friend finishes putting together bread and lunch meat. Sitting down in a chair, Dean opens the chips and shakes some out onto each of their plates just as Cas turns to plop down the main course. Dean can smell the mustard on Cas’s ham sandwich and crinkles his nose.

“I hate Mondays,” Cas grits out as he joins Dean at the table.

“Don’t,” cautions Dean firmly. “Don’t ruin Sunday by talking about Monday.”

“Dean,” says Cas, dropping his sandwich, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Sarcasm and humor are both thickly laced into Castiel’s words. “Fuckin’ eat,” Dean grins, sinking his teeth into turkey and mayo. After they’ve finished, he lingers for a while under the guise of helping clean up the kitchen. But, what he’s really doing is helping Cas reset. He’s getting him out of the studio and back into his other life, the one where he has a nine-to-five job crunching numbers. When the last of the dishes are drying in the rack and the counters are wiped down, Dean pulls the trash bag from the garbage can and binds it up.

“I’ll take this down with me,” he says, readying himself to leave.

“Don’t forget your blue shirt. It’s in the dryer.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for washing it.”

“No problem. Next time you try and paint, we should put a smock on you.”

“I’d look hot in a smock,” chuckles Dean as he bends to retrieve the permanently stained garment from Cas’s machine.

“No one looks hot in a smock, Dean, not even you.”

“You just wait,” he teases, glad that Cas is cheering up, “I’ll rock that smock.”

With that, he picks up the bag of garbage and heads for the exit. “Night Cas,” he calls as he heads back through the studio.

From behind him he hears, “Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?” he replies, turning back towards the kitchen.

Cas looks down at the floor for a moment. Dean trades the garbage to the other hand as he waits for Cas to speak again.

“I wish you could stay,” he admits softly, still looking down at his feet.

Dean’s heart quivers because he knows how Cas feels in this moment. He feels it too. Often.

“I know,” he says, not moving from the spot. “But, I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Cas nods, still not looking up. Dean knows that he won’t, so he turns and goes. All he’s done for the last hour to cheer his friend is now meaningless. He feels like he’s kicked a puppy. Sadly, there’s nothing he can do. He’s spent the night here a few times now and it never ends well.

Dean thunders down the stairs, bypassing the trash chute that’s been out of service for almost three weeks. He carries the load out the front door and around the side of the building where he can finally dump it into a bin. Relieved of his burden, Dean pauses to look up two stories towards the windows of Castiels loft. It would be so easy to go back up there.

But then what? Curl up next to Cas in bed and hold him? That’s what Cas needs right now, Dean knows it. Unfortunately, that’s been done before and it didn’t help either of them.

Whether he’s gotten hammered and been too drunk to drive, or one of them was sad and needed company, or Dean’s baby broke down and needed a tow, it doesn’t matter. Nights spent together always ends the same… both of them hurting because they want something they just can’t have.

Turning away from Cas’s bank of windows, Dean heads for the Impala. Sliding in behind the wheel, he turns the key and feels the engine come to life. He feels antsy, and his fingers twitch at the wheel as they seek to unload nervous energy. Turning on the stereo, he lucks out. Zep’s playing. Ramble On. His mantra tonight.

Singing along as he drives, Dean starts to feel marginally better. But when the song comes to an end, his nervousness returns. Dean’s sitting at a traffic light. A commercial comes on and he wants to crawl out of his skin, an old familiar feeling taking over. It’s wretched, this feeling, and the sickening combination of shame and desire that usually accompanies it hits Dean with body-jarring force. There’s only one sure-fire way to feel better. He needs to get some.

That’s it. He just needs to get some.

When the light turns green, Dean hits the gas. He’s no longer heading home. He’s heading for a bar… a familiar dive in his old stomping grounds. He’s not been here for over six months. Last time, he sat for almost three hours, drinking himself into complacency and chatting up half a dozen men that he thought might be able to give him what he needed. But, that night, when he’d seen his boss come through the door, he’d fled. Seeing Crowley had been unexpected and it had thrown him off his game. That was the only reason he’d not continued to work his way through available men until he’d found the right one.

That night, when he’d fled the bar, he’d gone to Cas’s place. His friend had climbed out of bed, despite having to work in the morning, and spent most the night talking things through with Dean and helping remind him of his good qualities… the ones that he tended to overlook… the ones that made him too precious to allow himself to be treated poorly, even if it’s what he thought he wanted.

That night, he’d made a promise to both himself and his friend, a promise born of his notably improved self-esteem. It was a heartfelt vow that he’d abstain from sex completely, rather than engage in the kind of risky behaviors that it took to get his rocks off.

It wasn’t easy to ignore the part of him that wanted to indulge in dark deeds. His disturbing appetites had been easier to abstain from with Castiel in his life, but they’d not gone away. That night felt like ages ago now. But as he drives the darkened streets tonight, Dean finds himself suddenly aware of the pressure that’s been building inside of him for a while now. He’s like a pot of water boiling over, unable to contain the heat roiling deep in his gut. Thoughts of debauchery begin invading his mind and pushing rational thoughts from his head the way a human puts their dog outside.

His will power is stretched thin, about to break. More than anything, Dean wants to be used and abused. Not just dominated, but completely defiled. His body longs to be stripped, put on display, brutally fucked and humiliated, not just by one but by many. The desire has been building in him for a while, creeping up on him slowly. And only now, when he’s feeling weak and desolately saddened because he he can’t have what he wants with Castiel, the conniving voice in the back of his mind is whispering to him. It tells him that he’s never going to be good enough for Cas and that if he can’t have the thing he wants most, maybe he can at least have the thing he’s craving.

It’s too damn hard to fight the logic of that voice, his voice, when it tells him such truths. So, consequences be damned, Dean hits the gas and heads for the bar. Last time he’d gone there with every intention of fully sating his wicked desires. The only reason he’d not followed through was the unexpected appearance of his boss, Crowley, at the bar where he’d been cruising. But tonight, he’ll not be thwarted. He’s going to the bar and he’s going to find someone who will treat him the way he knows he’s meant to be treated. He’s going to kill and bury the part of him that wants more and better things and be content to let his demons out to play. He’ll suck and fuck and he’ll smile as others watch him be treated like a common whore. His dick will get hard as he hears them jeering and calling him names and when he’s had enough cocks run through him, his hole split wide and burning with abuse, he’ll finally cum long and hard and the relief of it will wash over him like floodwater.

With his mouth dry and anticipatory, Dean motors into the parking lot of Trixx, his favorite place to troll for men. Pulling into a parking space, Dean clenches his eyes shut against the image of Castiel that rises to mind unbidden. The man’s eyes, so empathetic and soulful, bore into him now, even though he’s alone in the car. He feels himself seen and witnessed through to his soul, even though Cas is miles away. An argument against staying here, the sentiments that Cas has imparted on him in the past come echoing back, pin-balling around chaotically in his mind.

_You deserve better_

_You are special_

_You are worth more_

_You are loved_

Then, clear as day, Dean remembers sitting in the window of Cas’s bedroom during a torrential downpour. It had been in the early days of their friendship. The rain had been beating on the paned glass and lightening flashed across the sky over and over as he poured his heart out to his friend. He’d spoken bluntly about the things he’d done, in excruciating detail, and the aftermath… which is just life as he now knows it.

In response, Castiel had stood behind him, letting Dean’s eyes watch the storm outside as he wrapped arms tightly around him in reassurance. With Dean’s back to him, Cas had hugged him and said, “Dean, you’ve trained yourself to want these things so that it would be less painful to have them done to you. I think you’re incredibly brave and selfless to do what you’ve done for your brother. But now that you’re free of that life, you’ll have to re-train yourself to love what’s good for you instead of what you’ve survived.”

Dean had known the words were true and that had been the biggest reason he’d vowed to have no sex at all. He’d rather be celibate than have sex the way he’d been having it. At least that way he’d have his dignity. Logically it all made sense.

But now, parked at Trixx and hearing dull thud of the music playing inside, Dean wonders why it’s so hard to fight the impulse, especially if it’s truly one of his own making. He tells himself not to go in _. Just go home._

But the urge is taking over and he is losing this battle. He’ll be had in the end, there’s no doubt. He’ll be rode hard and put away wet. He can’t abstain. Isn’t strong enough. Pulling the key from Baby’s ignition, Dean gets out of the car. He takes half a dozen steps, closing the distance between himself and what he wants. Needs.

As he approaches, two men are coming out. They angle to his left as they move around him and when they pass by, Dean’s eye catches a glimpse of the closer man’s t-shirt. It bears the picture of a green dragon. The image lingers on Dean’s mind and as he processes it and his feet begin to slow. He thinks of his tattoo design, still in progress, the many incarnations of it filling several sketch pads. The image is clear - his foot, strong and certain, crushing the neck of a dragon. He remembers that he’s strong.

A cool breeze whispers across his face, and with that touch of freshness, Dean finds clarity returning. He’s able to turn back. Immediately a surge of adrenaline runs through him and he’s empowered in this moment. He will crush the dragon. It’s his demon, he can see that now. The dragon is a fierce monster of his own making. He needs to put his foot on it’s neck.

Looking around the parking lot as he opens the car door, Dean drops into the driver’s seat and turns the key to start up his baby… the only thing of value ever given to him. Well, that and his dad’s old leather jacket. He treasures both for some unknowable reason, despite his anger towards the man who gave them to him. The thump of music from inside the bar can still be heard and it cuts through his resolve, calls to him like a siren song.

Once more, the face of Castiel floats up behind Dean’s eyelids. The overwhelming adoration that fills those temperate blue eyes gives Dean the last bit of strength he needs and he slams Baby into reverse. Peeling out of the parking lot, Dean corners hard into the street and hauls ass back across the bridge. He’s headed in the right direction, but he needs help. It’s going to be a long damn night.

Pulling into the parking garage at Cas’s place, Dean finds an empty spot and abandons his car. Running along the brick exterior of Cas’s building he thinks of nothing but having the man’s arms around him again, like that day when he confessed. He needs more strength than he’s got to fight his darker side and he’ll borrow it from Castiel.

He’s winded when he reaches the entry door. His fingers fumble clumsily and he has to try three times to enter the code before he manages to do it correctly. When he finally hears the clunk of the door locks releasing, Dean pitches himself inside. He takes the stairs two at a time and puts his fists to the steel door of Cas’s loft. He pounds relentlessly and when the door opens to him, he falls forward into the waiting arms of his friend.

Cas drags him forward and over the threshold and a moment later he hears the heavy thud of the door closing. He’s safe now; safe from himself. Dean hadn’t even realized that he’d been crying until he lifts his head to talk. That’s when he sees a long string of spit connecting his mouth to the threadbare t-shirt that Cas is now wearing. There’s a huge wet spot where his cheek just was.

Dean’s hands shoot to his face, wiping angrily at his tears and hating his weakness. Cas is holding him tightly and over Dean’s body-racking sobs, his friend is whispering to him that it’s okay to let it out. It’s okay to cry. And he does. Right there on the floor, both of them slumped into a pile, Dean lets the dam crumble and the sadness pour out. He cries for the boy inside, the ruined one who will never be the same. He cries out the anger and the frustration, the fear and the loss. And when he’s got no tears left, Cas helps him up. They fumble through the studio and kitchen, Castiel guiding him to the bathroom sink where he wets a cloth with cool water and wipes Deans face with it.

Despite the end of his crying jag, Dean’s body is still racked with sobs. The strange hiccupping noise that accompanies the unwanted body contortions infuriate him enough to squeeze out one last tear, even though he’d thought no more could be made.

“You’ll be alright,” says Cas, reassuringly. “You’re stronger than you know. And I’m here for you.”

From the safety of his friends arms Dean mumbles his gratitude into soft cotton. When he inhales, the scent of his friend fills his nostrils and it’s the sweetest scent in the world – it smells like home.

“Can I stay?” he whispers.

“Of course,” Cas answers softly. “Always.”

Dean follows limply when Cas leads him out of the bathroom. His body is weak with exhaustion now and the distance from bathroom to bed never seemed so far. Falling into the soft cushion of Cas’s blankets, Dean rolls to his side and doesn’t fight it when his friend pulls the covers from under him and burritos him into the down comforter. Closing his eyes, Dean floats in limbo for a few minutes, his body ready to surrender itself to sleep but his mind still spinning. The bed dips when Cas joins him in it and without thinking, Dean scuttles forward towards his warmth.

Arms open to him and Dean pushes his face into the spot where Castiels neck meets his shoulder. He’d been falling apart when he came here, fighting to keep himself together. He’d been losing too. But now he can just let go and trust Cas to hold him together.

Sleep is fitful, Dean waking several times as dreams took him to a place he didn’t want to be. But each time, Cas is there to hold him tighter, anchor him in a reality where he’s not alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers at one point.

“You have nothing to apologize for Dean.”

“Yes, I do,” he says honestly. “You needed me tonight and I wouldn’t stay. But when I needed you, you still took me in.”

“I don’t blame you for leaving,” reassures Cas, kissing the top of Dean’s head sweetly. “We’re both just doing the best we can here. It isn’t easy.”

“Thanks Cas,” he sighs. Then, with his body cried out and his conscience relieved, Dean is finally able to slip down into a deeper and more restful sleep. When the morning sun begins to warm the room, the two drift apart, kicking the covers off.

“It was so cold yesterday,” Dean complains, “where the fuck is this heat coming from?”

“Indian summer,” says Cas softly, “we should do something outside today. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Dean loves the way Cas doesn’t mention last night. Instead, he’s giving Dean something to look forward to in the new day. They rise together and throw on some comfortable clothes. Then, Dean stands by while Cas calls out sick from work so they can head for the park.

The day remains warm for as long as the sun is up and they don’t waste a moment of it. They play ball until they’re exhausted and then they drop down on benches to eat hot dogs from a street cart and watch people go by. As the sun drops low in the sky, they head back to Castiels place where they get comfortable in the studio. As Cas works on his painting a little, Dean sets his attention on his sketch book. He’s just doodling absently on his most recent rendering of his tattoo, his attention often turning to Castiel who seems to have overcome his indecision about the huge canvas. Dean watches off and on as Castiel works diligently, fully absorbed in what he’s creating.

When the need to piss makes itself known, Dean heads for the bathroom. Upon his return, he pulls his pad back into his lap and looks down at it, absolutely stunned to see what his absent minded doodling has put to paper. His design isn’t drastically different now, it’s just changed a bit. But the effect is transformative. The dragon’s neck is still beneath his foot, but alongside his is another. Two feet, one belonging to him and the other to Castiel. As his eyes travel up the page, he sees another figure slotted in next to his own, Castiel beside him with one arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulder and the other brandishing a sword. The implication is obvious and as Dean begins to add definition and shading, he feels the power of the image. “Hey Cas,” he says, breaking the long silence of their shared workspace.

“Yes Dean?”

“C’mere,” he says, “Get a look. I think, well, holy shit Cas, I think I’m done.”

With excitement plain on his face, Cas rushes over to kneel by Dean and peer at his finished design. “I-I can’t believe it,” he stammers, “Is that –

“Yeah, Cas. It is.”

“Dean, I’m so honored,” says Cas reverently. “Where will you put it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admits, “and I’ll still have a lot of work to do before it’s ready. But I’m done playing with it. This is it Cas, this is my tat.”

The long standing silence is broken by a stomach gurgle and it makes both men chuckle. “Life of an artist,” jokes Cas. “We never remember to eat until it’s too late to wait for something to cook.”

“Order pizza?” asks Dean as he gets to his feet.

“Sure. You staying?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

They amble out of the studio, Cas stopping to look back at his painting once before shutting off the overhead lights. Dean can tell he’s proud of his progress on the painting today. Passing through the kitchen, they pause at the fridge for drinks and head for the bedroom where Cas grabs his bed clothes and heads for the bathroom. Dean settles into a chair next to the window and reaches down to plug in his dead phone. As soon as he’s got 1%, he turns it back on and pulls up the number for a local pizza place that delivers late. They tuck in together, watching television as they wait for their food. To Dean, it almost feels like they’re a couple. Honestly, he wishes they were and he knows that Cas does too.

After pizza, Dean flops down to sleep, tugging a pillow under his head. Castiel seems interested in the television so Dean doesn’t pester him to turn it off. He falls asleep easily despite the noise. It’s when his body registers silence that he wakes. The automatic timer must’ve shut off Cas’s television. Sitting halfway up, he looks over at the clock on the nightstand and sees that it’s nearly four am. Getting up to go relieve himself, Dean then shuffles back to the bed.

Cas looks incredible bathed in shafts of silver moonlight, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths and one leg sticking out from under the covers. Not for the first time, Dean wishes he could paint. He’d love to capture this moment and a picture just wouldn’t do it justice. A camera can capture a moment but an artist captures a feeling. And that’s what Dean’s having right now… a feeling. It’s like nothing he’s ever known before, a deep and abiding love.

He’s slow to take the last three steps to the bed, his eyes hungrily drinking in the shape of this man and trying to commit the image to memory. If he can’t preserve it on canvas, perhaps he can at least keep it forever in his mind.

When he finally crawls between the sheets, Cas rolls into him sleepily. The man’s leg pushes into Dean’s space and inadvertently slides between Dean’s own two legs.

To Dean’s surprise, a delightful shiver snakes up his spine. He snuggles into Castiel, pressing a kiss to his temple and they lay tangled for a moment, Cas still asleep and Dean processing a long forgotten sensation. It begins almost like a pin-prick and then it grows, starting in his groin and then radiating outward until the physical embodiment of it presents itself. Yep, there it is, right between his legs… the unexpected sensation of a hardening dick. He’s not felt this in years. Well, not without the thrill of an audience, the enticement of multiple partners, and the promise both pain and humiliation.

He waits cautiously, unsure of what will happen next. This could be a fluke… just a passing thing. But, a few minutes later, it’s still there, swollen between his legs and begging for attention.

“Cas,” whispers Dean, “wake up.”

“Hmm?” moans Cas sleepily.

“Cas,” he says again, rolling over and pressing his body into his friend and letting the man feel his hardness.  “Do you want me?” he asks cautiously.

“You know I do,” answers Cas, coming awake quickly as he feels Dean’s need and responds to it. It’s an incredible thing to feel the spark that ignites between them as they latch on to one another. Dean never thought he’d have this – a meaningful encounter with someone special. He’d long ago given up hope, thinking that he’d ruined himself for love and sex in his formative years. But no. Here he is, hard as a rock and only growing more aroused as he feels his friend stiffen alongside him.

Perhaps this is a one-time thing and perhaps it’s not. But he’s not going to waste it second guessing. He’s going to make love to Castiel.

“How do you like it?” he asks, taking his man in hand and beginning to stroke.

“I don’t care,” says Cas, his face tucked against Dean’s chest, “I just want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Do you have what we need?”

“In the drawer.”

Dean reaches out with one hand, his other unwilling to leave the flesh of his lover. His fingers search blindly in the half light and eventually find the little plastic bottle with a flip top cap. He brings it to the bed and continues searching until he comes up with a condom too. Then, he’s able to turn his full attention to his man.

Bringing his mouth to Cas’s, he captures those supple lips in a kiss and lets himself sink into it. Their mouths lock together, tongues searching and finding, exploring each other deeply. Meanwhile, their hands are doing the same, touching each other greedily and learning the feel of their most intimate areas. Their chests press together, stomachs too, and Dean rolls his hips in time with Cas. Between them, their shafts press together again and again, fueling a slow burning flame.  

The rutting motion they’ve fallen into is steadily building and when it begins to boarder on reckless and sloppy, Dean pulls his lips from Cas’s puffy ones and begins tracking down his man’s body. He licks nipples and plants baby kisses along the man’s firm pecs as he continues lower. Stumbling across a soft treasure trail, Dean follows it downward. With growing excitement, Dean boldly clambers down the bed to bury his face in Cas’s bush. His friend bucks up into him in anticipation and then Deans opening his mouth to take the man in. He remembers this taste. He’d loved it the first time, all those long months ago when he’d first propositioned Cas. The man had opened his trench coat doubtfully and Dean had sucked him down. Now he does it again but this time with a tenderness he was lacking before.

He isn’t just trying to choke himself on dick for the purposes of titillating himself. This time, he’s motivated by the thought of bringing pleasure to the man he loves. And he does love Cas, he’s known that for quite some time. He simply didn’t know he had this in him, this ability to still make love. And now, as he suckles sweetly at the essence of his man, he hopes on all that’s holy that this isn’t a one off. He wants this again and again. He wants this to last for as long as his love lasts.

“Dean,” says Cas frantically, “I can’t last.”

“Don’t try to hold out,” Dean purrs, his lips barely pulling off far enough to make the words audible. “Just feel good, Cas, that’s all I want. Just to make you to feel good.”

When he sinks back down on Cas, Dean goes to the root, opening his throat and loving how it feels to have it stretched around the only man he’s ever really cared about.  Not a moment later, Cas comes. He clenches his fists into Dean’s hair and arches his back and comes hard and Dean swallows it all.

“Dean,” Cas pants into the dark, “don’t stop, I need you.” As Cas speaks, he spreads his legs wide in invitation, wriggling around until Deans torso is between them. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits softly, “Please, I want you inside me. Dean, please.”

“Shhh,” whispers Dean as he fumbles for the lube, “I’ve wanted this as much as you have, Cas.”

They grow quiet in the moments that follow, moments spent being as intimate as two people can be with each other. Dean, with his mouth suckling Cas’s softened cock while his slicked fingers push into Castiels most sensitive and protected area. Moaning over how good it’s going to feel to sink his dick in, Dean gently opens up his lover, one finger at a time. Cas’s cock is small and soft between his lips and he loves how it feels to cradle it on his tongue.

Between his legs, Dean’s still hard and wanting and as Cas loosens for him, he pulls his knees up and gets into position. Feverishly working to coat his own cock, Dean pulls his mouth from Cas’s package and moves upward, now capturing his lips again as he pushes forward and sinks slowly inside his man. This feeling is new to him, having seldom been the one to top in the past. The pressure on his cock is intense and Dean can tell already on the first push that he’s not going to last. But he tries, oh how he tries.

He loves the feel of Cas’s tight hole clenching around his cock but, more than that, Dean loves the feel of Cas gripping tightly to Dean’s forearms as he rides out the thrusts. The man grunts as he takes what Dean gives him, and feeling Cas give himself over like this adds to Dean’s euphoria. His stomach drops as he gets close and he can feel everything in his body roaring towards completion. He cries out Cas’s name as he comes hard and locks his body to Cas’s as the waves of pleasure roll over him.

As he’s coming down, what he notices is how tightly Castiel is holding him. “Don’t,” begs Cas, when he moves to pull out. “Dean, don’t. Not yet.”

Dean sighs contentedly as he settles his weight over his lover and goes still. They stay like that for precious moments, both enjoying the afterglow. Only when he really has to does Dean break the spell by reaching between them to carefully extract the condom and tie it off. He then gets up from the bed to discard it and get a wet cloth.

He’s exhausted now that he’s shot his load, but he’ll not rest until he’s carefully cleaned up his friend and lover. It’s when the used rag is tossed back towards the bathroom that he sags down with Castiel in the bed. They snuggle into each other, their legs tangling beneath the covers and their arms looping together between their chests so they can hold hands as they kiss good night. That’s how they fall asleep and though they each turn and roll during the night, their bodies constantly orientate to one another so they can remain always touching, at least a little.

“You going to work today?” asks Dean when they wake.

“Nope,” jokes Cas, “I’m pretty sure that this stomach bug is going to last most of the week.”

When Cas rolls over to call the office for his second phony sick day, Dean heads to the bathroom and starts up the shower. He’s happy with how things are between them, and hopeful that his ability to perform sexually will stay with him. Willfully, he shoves all doubts to the very back of his mind.

When Cas joins him, Dean gently shampoos his lovers hair. It’s a tender thing that he knows will convey all he’s feeling without him having to actually use mushy words. When the man’s hair is rinsed clean, Dean leans in and gives several soft pecs to the back of Cas’s neck.

“Dean,” says Cas, keeping his back turned, “I just want you to know that I don’t care if last night was a one-time thing for us. Even if you and I can never have sex again, you’re still the one I want in my bed every night. I want you with me even if we’re not fucking. I’ll be your friend always, regardless of what you decide. But, I want you to know that you're welcome here... that I love you and I want to share my life with you. I’m yours if you want me, Dean.”

The sweet ache in Dean’s heart as he hears those words spoken is profound and life altering. He knows he belongs with this man, come what may. So he slips an arm around Castiel’s waist and draws his friend back to him as he says, “I’m yours too, Cas, for as long as you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought?


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